Pon Izau
by MZ-Superman-Fan
Summary: There's a lot that has changed since 1992 and one woman is about to find that out. Amelia Wright, caught in the wake of the first time travel mishap, finds herself in good ole' 2259. Suspicion surrounds her arrival, while others fight to keep her safe. Follow her journey, the good, the bad, and the not so pretty. -Eventual- McCoy/OC. T Rating for the time being.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **This is my first attempt at a StarTrek fanfic and I hope I can do it justice. I've read many of the works already published and I pondered long and hard about going with a time travel fic, since I know it can end up with disaster. I want to do it right and do it well. I hope you guys enjoy and I'll do my best to update once a week (Say... every Tuesday?). The first chapter runs a little slow, but the pace picks up pretty quick. If you enjoy it, let me know with a follow or review. :)

* * *

**STARDATE 2492.197**

**M. J. Archer Base Camp**

**Antarctica**

Adjusting his lab coat and pushing back stray strands of brown hair, Commander Eli Jefferson prepared himself for one last inspection, a data PADD resting across his left arm. It wasn't particularly necessary, but the situation allowed for additional precautions. He knelt at the base of the ten foot structure. He climbed up several ladders stationed around its mass. All done in order to check items off the list, his trained eyes searching for anything out of place. A missing bolt. A cracked tube. A misaligned cable. Anything that could cause a malfunction.

The commander wasn't alone as he paced around the white spherical pod, several other high ranking Starfleet officers making their own observations, each carrying an identical PADD. The five man team, comprised of four humans and a vulcan, flowed around one another with the grace of water. Double check. Triple check. Aside from the soft taps signaling data entries, the circular room was surprisingly quiet.

Eli was one of the first to finish, glancing over his shoulder once more at what would be one of the most recognized achievements since Cochrane. Some of the greatest minds of the Federation had joined together to construct the device. Eli felt his chest swell with pride having been a part of it. He wondered if the vulcan shared the sentiment.

One by one, the five man inspection team slowly gathered together, comparing notes and murmuring on with excitement, breaking the prolonged silence. No one had found any trace of error, which meant that in twelve hours time the pod would be sent to its destination. An hour after that it would return to the room it currently resided in. And then history would reflect on their dedication.

It was a good day to be a scientist.

A soft hiss drew their attention back to the pod, their eyes never straying as symmetrical breaks formed in the pod's surface, revealing a hatch. They watched on, not with surprise, but with anticipation. It opened outward, releasing more soft sounds of escaping air, and lowered until it touched the pristine floor to form the pod's landing ramp. One man and one woman stepped out from within the sphere, both dressed in soft yellow uniforms. Both wearing smiles.

"It's ready." Captain Matthew Parcell stated, jerking a thumb towards the pod. Two words that the team had been hoping to hear. Of course, they hadn't been expecting any other diagnosis.

"Yes." Eli responded, a small grin forming. "Yes it is." More statements of approval followed. Finally, Matthew and Joanna stepped off the ramp, beginning the short walk that would lead out of the launch site. Eli followed, stopping once to submit his results to command, and once more to place his PADD on its return cart. Even with the delays, he caught up to the two pilots before they reached the osmium plated doors.

"Won't be much longer now." Matthew said, not facing Eli as he addressed him. Eli wasn't too bothered by it, the captain presently occupied with the security panel embedded between the sliding doors. And, after years of working together they had grown past some of the more common courtesies. Matthew finally looked over his shoulder, pinning Eli with a soft green gaze. "I can't believe we're here."

As the double doors parted a swift gust of cold air made its way inside the room, a testament to the harsh environment outside the compound's walls. It was also a reminder of the safety precautions being taken. Predominately, isolation.

"Better start believing it. We launch in-" Joanna broke off as she stepped out of the room and into a white walled corridor., "Eleven hours and forty-seven minutes."

"And there is still much to be done." Eli supplemented, mentally listing what would follow. Starfleet command would be arriving in seven hours, along with Federation representatives and a contingent of Vulcan and Andorian scientists. There had even been word that the Romulans would provide an ambassador, though that was still uncertain with their newly budding alliance. The event could serve to bring them further within the Federation or potentially empower them individually.

Of course, all that was politics and beyond Eli's range of concern. Instead he focused on the fact that the inspection team would run three more complex simulations and verify future calculations. Which meant he needed to bid Matthew and Joanna luck and head off with his own team.

As he prepared to turn and face the captain, he found himself interrupted with, "I know, I know." Matthew's words were accompanied with a wink. "Good luck." The captain shot him a brief salute and then started forward with Joanna in the opposite direction, leaving Eli with the other four inspectors.

"Commander Jefferson." The senior inspector, Chief Commander T'Janis, drew Eli's attention back to the task at hand, his eyes meeting a pair of brown ones. The female Vulcan falsely appeared impatient, the downfall of having a blank expression. Then, for a brief moment, Eli could almost see a flash of anxiety cross her slightly wrinkled face. "We will begin a simulation in twelve minutes. I presume you will be present?"

The fact that the chief bothered to state the obvious meant something, though Eli wasn't sure how to translate her actions. "I will. I am actually on my way to the lab. Care to join me?" T'Janis tilted her head, her hand gracefully swinging, motioning for Eli to 'lead the way'.

The walk was relatively short, the lab strategically positioned close enough to the launch room that, should an emergency arise, someone could physically get to the pod. When Eli and T'Janis passed through the security doors, they were met with the other three team members.

One of them, Lieutenant Commander Timothy Walker, glanced up from a row of computer monitors. "We're engaging Project _Pon Izau _simulation one." The Vulcan words didn't flow easily from the human male, the pronunciation a slurred 'pon ease how'.

Project Pon Izau. Time Shift. When Starfleet first began toying with the idea, the Federation came forward with its concerns. Time is delicate. It can be used against us in ways we cannot even fathom. The damage will be irreversible.

And Starfleet responded with the only answer that could ever change the minds of the Vulcans. "We cannot let it happen again." Together, they developed the Temporal Directive. A series of classified rules and regulations designed to protect the time line that they would one day ride. Only after it was established did Project Pon Izau begin.

Eli mused on the project's history, thinking of how far Starfleet had come. How tightly it had drawn the Federation together.

"Commander." T'Janis pulled Eli from his thoughts, directing him towards an empty console. Its display was already filled with data, compilations of previous inspections, simulations, and projections. He took a seat, located his headset, and gave a slight wave to T'Janis over his shoulder. Sliding the soft material over his ears, blocking out the voices of the other technicians, he was ready.

"_Commencing simulation one." _A computerized voice spoke through the headset.

With the cue, Eli inhaled, his fingers moving swiftly and accurately across the control panel to submit information. "Computer, set destination. STARDATE 2392.197."

Several hours later, Eli was mentally exhausted. He anticipated that his pupils would take another half-hour to return to normal after having been focused on the display monitor for such an extended period.

An additional simulation was added, one member of the inspection team encountering an error with the chroniton ring generator. After examining the subsequent data, it was determined that the computer had a defect in its memory storage and the additional simulation was enough to counter the system failure. The team celebrated with replicated champaign, and toasted to the journey that Matthew and Joanna would be making.

By the time the deadline struck, everyone felt more than prepared. Or as prepared as someone could be for such a momentous occasion. The lab's computers were re-initialized, wiping clean the simulations and uploading the programs for the first test run of the chroniton pod.

Eli couldn't help but feel nervous as the team watched on security cameras as Matthew and Joanna suited up next to the pod. He adjusted his headset in order to be fed audio, even though they weren't scheduled to synchronize in for another twenty minutes. _"-good thing we don't wear these everyday." _Matthew's jovial voice came across clear through the headset.

"_I thought it was bad when we were fitted." _The two laughed and Eli found himself smiling. T'Janis, wearing her own headset, glanced over in his direction.

"Humans. Complaining about equipment that is designed to keep them alive." Though it was almost snarky, Eli interpreted the remark as T'Janis attempting to connect. He winked at the vulcan, who simply raised an eyebrow in response.

"We complain. It's part of our appeal." Eli said with a shrug. Attempting to change the topic's direction, Eli found himself asking, "Have you had a chance to see the diplomats?" Save for their Chief Commander, the team had remained in the lab, seeing to the set up of the computer systems.

"I have. The Ambassador has arrived, along with four members of The Science Academy. The Klingon Chancellor is also in attendance with two scientists from Qo'nos. Seven Romulans arrived an hour ago. I believe they have passed through security. And three Andorians. I am not aware of their... profession." Her reply was more informative than he had expected, and just as quickly as she ended the conversation, she resumed watching the security feed. Eli guessed that the diplomats had their eyes rapt on the same images.

Matthew and Joanna placed their palms simultaneously against the pod's surface, the breaks beginning to form for the hatch. As a security measure, the pod itself would only open for five people, two of them required to bypass the entrance locks. No single person could ever open the pod and no single person could operate it.

It was regulation two-seven delta of the Temporal Directive.

Once Matthew and Joanna entered the pod, the team lost visibility of them. Originally, the pod had been designed with a view screen, but during an initial engine test they learned that a transmitting a visual feed from within the pod interfered with the chroniton drive. Even though the disruption wasn't considered significant, the team simply decided to use an audio only feed.

However, they kept the security line open to watch the room itself.

Over the course of three minutes, the team became re-acquainted with Matthew and Joanna's voices, listening in to their chatter, soft smiles spreading on their faces as the two captains eased themselves into the situation.

Eli would have done the same under the circumstances. Despite all the calculations, all the simulations, and all the projections. There was still the chance that those two would never make it back. But that kind of negativity wasn't something the team allowed to thrive. Instead they focused on ensuring that Captain Parcell and Captain Pike would see them in an hour and ten minutes.

"_**Commencing countdown to launch. Ten minutes." **_Command's broadcast reached the entire compound.

"_Ready, Jo?" _Matthew.

"_Can't really back out now." _A few nervous laughs echoed through the lab.

As they had been trained, Matthew began talking through the process. Since there was no video feed from inside, that was their affirmation that the two captains were operating on schedule. That and the physical changes in the pod over the security feed._"Powering ring generator. Sealing hatch." _

The confidence in his voice was present, one of the reasons Matthew had been chosen to be pod's pilot. Fearless... and even when he felt fear, he pushed through. He'd once stated that there was always a way home and if something went wrong, he'd not stop til he found it. His career had proven that to be true.

But how does someone find their way home when it doesn't even exist yet?

The pod's hatch finally sealed, and all the members of the team had their eyes rapt on the monitors, switching between watching small openings forming on the pod's surface and a steady stream of data confirming the pod's status. The ring generator had been designed with nodes across the pod's surface to help ensure stability of the chroniton rings.

"_**Countdown to launch. Seven minutes." **_

"_Time to hover. Engaging thrusters." _The pod lifted off the ground, remaining at just over a foot in the air. Eli glanced at a temperature reading of the room, noting a twenty degree spike in temperature. So far, so good.

"_Establishing ring one."_ Hearing Joanna's command, Eli could picture her operating the console to release built up energy from within the ring generator, which was redirected through magnetic fields. The energy would flow through an exit port at the base of the pod, then continue from node to node until it was a steady circle around the sphere.

"_Hey, Eli._"At Matthew's call, Eli's cheeks heated, a flush forming as the captain singled him out. "_How's it looking?" _

He fumbled with the headset, his fingers finding the open comms button as he responded. "I'm sure command is keeping you well informed."

"_They are. I just want to know how it looks from your perspective." _Matthew wasn't able to see the formation of the rings, but the inspection team had a perfect view. Ring one expanded outwards from the pod, spinning strings of light that slowly beginning to rotate. It looked like a planetary ring, keeping an even six inches from the pod's surface. The nodes released small magnetic containment fields, blinking in time as they worked to keep the ring stable.

For a brief moment, Eli felt reminded of an angel's halo. A remarkable feat of ingenuity and invention. They had witnessed this on a much smaller scale during the test runs, but the size of the pod and the even greater size of the rings caused Eli's chest to tighten with awe.

"It's beautiful, Captain. You'll be able to see the feed when you get back." His fingers left the comm button, their open connection coming to a close. He couldn't risk distracting Matthew, or let Matthew distract himself.

"_I'll hold you to it." _He nodded, despite his friend not being able to see it.

"_Establishing ring two." _A second halo expanded, passing through the first ring. Bright sparks flew at each intersection of the rings, tiny crinkle sounds of electricity flowing across the headset. The gray color of the second ring contrasted with the pure white of the first, each one identifiable as they passed through one another.

"_**Countdown to launch. Five minutes."**_

"_Ring three." _The pace of the captain's work increased. Once the first ring was established they could only hold the rotations for ten minutes max before having to restart the system. Calculations had allowed for a three minute buffer should the first ring fail formation.

Not that they had anticipated a failure.

Each of the following rings appeared with darker shades, the fifth ring appearing black, small slivers of white light wrapped throughout it. _"All rings holding." _Matthew announced. "_Preparing to activate Chroniton drive." _Though the rings were captivating in their looks, the chroniton drive was the true hero of the pod.

The drive was designed to release chroniton particles throughout the rings, surrounding the pod with their unique temporal properties. Too few rings and only part of the pod would be transported, too many and the particles would be spread too thin. Upon the drive's activation they suspected the pod would simply vanish, though this would be the first time witnessing the pod's departure with human passengers.

A burning sensation formed in Eli's chest and he realized that he had been holding his breath. Glancing around him, he observed the other inspectors all wearing flushed expressions. At least he wasn't the only one, he thought as he rubbed his palms against the bottom of his lab coat. His eyes landed on T'Janis, who was oddly expressive for a Vulcan, her gaze rapt on the screen, her fingers clenched tightly.

Her mouth made silent words, but Eli wasn't very good at lip-reading, much less in Vulcan. Maybe there were times where even a Vulcan prayed.

"_**Launch in five-four-three..." **_His gaze returned to the screen, watching as the five rings of the pod widened further from its surface, their circumference thickening, as if strengthening themselves for what was to come. As they grew in size, the small static sounds rose to a dull roar. Eli adjusted his headset to compensate.

"_Drive active!" _Matthew shouted above the noise, indicating that even the Captains were not protected from the sound, despite the dense osmium shielding of the pod's surface.

"_**One."**_

"_See you in a hundred-"_

No one made a sound. Not when the rings imploded into the pod. Not when all that was left was an empty launch room. And not when the computer made the announcement, _**"Launch complete."**_ The destination should be free of all life. Antarctica. STARDATE 2392.197.

For a brief moment Eli felt a sharp spike of dread as he wondered if they had just sentenced themselves to non-existence.

* * *

**July 15, 1992**

**Flagstaff, Arizona**

Amelia Wright browsed, searched, and perused, her trained eyes looking for perfection. Or at least the potential for it. It wasn't often that she had the opportunity to be picky, the merchandise before her quite a haul from home and much more abundant.

Finally, she settled a sharp blue gaze on her prize, a satisfied gasp escaping from between parted lips.  
"There you are." She murmured at the sapling with a smile, as if trying to encourage the plant. "You're going to be very strong one day." The statement wasn't entirely true, but Amelia had never discouraged a plant before. She didn't intend on starting with a dogwood who wouldn't bud a flower for several more years.

For as long as she could remember, she loved watching things grow. Animals, people, plants. They age, molded by the elements around them, developing personalities and quirks. Animals were simple, easy to figure out. Happy, sad, and bored. People were a little more challenging. Happy with traces of the other two. Sad, with a touch of anger. But plants...

Once a plant was rooted, past it's first budding season, that was usually that. Her father would call her silly for assigning moods to a plant. Her mother would defend her, understanding because she had shared a similar love.

The dogwood was still too young for Amelia to say for sure what its temperament was, but if she had to guess she'd give it stubborn. Much like her father. "Yep. You're a Henry all right." She muttered, leaning in closer to eye its trunk, adjusting the strap of the backpack on her shoulder.

"Amelia!" She started at the shout, her eyes narrowing to glare at the short bald male making his way towards her. Not that she held any true ill will towards John... she simply had an aversion to surprises. Straightening to her full frame, she placed a balled up fist against her hip, hoping the posture was enough to discourage his behavior.

Of course, five feet wasn't particularly intimidating. Combining that with the blond hair pulled back in a pony tail and what some had jokingly called doe eyes, she wasn't likely to discourage much of anything.

Fumbling with the rolled up cuff of her flannel shirt, she let her eyes relax, losing the narrowed glare.

"Yes?" She huffed as John finally came to a stop to stand by her side. His gaze was drawn almost immediately to the dogwood, a frown slowly appearing. Already she knew that what he planned on saying wouldn't be what she wanted to hear.

"It'll be hard to culture back home." He crossed his arms in disapproval, tilting his head as he looked upon the thin branches. With a careless grasp, he lifted up one of the branches, the limb threatening to break. She briefly wondered how the man had succeeded into the horticulture business, treating the plants so harsh.

"No worse than here." Amelia knelt down, inspecting the sapling further. She fought a frown as she touched the soil, her hands coming back without a smudge of dirt. _Too dry_, she thought, finally letting that frown show.

"I've only had it for a week and it's already turning brittle. Dogwoods aren't made for this environment. You'll spend too much time and money keeping the soil rich and he'll never transplant anywhere. Damn thing saps up water in seconds."

"I've never had one at the greenhouse. I think he'll fit in nicely." Amelia closed her eyes to picture a fully grown Dogwood in the center of her greenhouse, its branches covered in soft white blooms. The frown on her face dissipated. It would take quite a bit of work, but she was certain it would be worth it.

"Well, the boys loaded up the Mallows and the Silver Puffs. I suppose I'll throw in ole-" He arched a brow and waited with mild impatience for Amelia to supply a name. They'd been down this road a time or two.

"Henry."

"-Henry here." Shaking his head and huffing, he knelt down to grab the pot, waving Amelia off when she went to assist. At least he showed a little more care as he cradled the plant. When he met her gaze, his brow crinkled, his mouth opening briefly before snapping shut. She recognized the concern almost instantly.

Confusion crossed her features, her hand grasping the backpack and steeling herself for bad news. "What?"

"Nevermind." John added with a shake of his head. "I'll take him out to the truck and meet you up front." Abruptly, he turned away from her, heading out back to where her little red Ford ranger was parked. She watched his back for a few moments, before turning the opposite direction.

Amelia had known John for almost six years, stopping by his plant nursery at least once a quarter. And never once had she seen him act that way. Angry over bad seasons, she'd seen. Sad after losing his wife. Bitter quite a few times. But concern was new.

_Maybe I've read him wrong_, she thought, still thinking about it when she made it to the register. The backpack fell at her feet, her hands searching through the front pocket for a small wad of cash. A stipend she'd saved just for this trip.

By the time she'd finished counting, rising to stand, John had already made it back and was still wearing that same expression on his face. "You gonna tell me what's on your mind?" Directness was something a man like John appreciated, and after she asked the question, she knew that it was the right one.

He sighed and rubbed a hand across his bald scalp, a nervous tick that she'd seen a few times in the past. It was usually followed by bad news. "Honestly... I've been hoping you would stop by." She kept quiet, her fingers clutching tighter around dollar bills as he spoke. "I'm worried about you."

"I'm doing fine." She relaxed a little. The greenhouse was thriving, her sales enough to pay taxes, utilities, and give her a little extra each month. Yeah, she'd stopped eating red meat a while ago, but overall she was doing good.

"No, hun. I'm worried about you being in the middle of nowhere. Especially with everything going on." Everything going on? Amelia hadn't been into town in at least three weeks, and the paper she had picked up that morning still sat unread in her truck. Maybe she should have skimmed through it before picking up plants.

"What's going on?" He gave her a sideways glare, the look asking if she was serious.

"You don't watch the news?"

"I don't have television, John." She'd gotten by without it so far, but for a brief moment she wondered if she'd missed out on that much because of it. If the news had been that bad, surely someone would have called her. _Like the family you don't have? _Or one of her customers would have mentioned something.

"The war is spilling over." The war currently causing havoc an ocean away. The war the US had been fighting to keep off the borders. The war that 80 percent of the population had been ignoring. "New York City declared martial law yesterday. Mandatory gene testing. Checkpoints at the border."

Genetic tests meant the military was looking for one thing. "There's Augments in America?" The public, though primarily ignorant of the specifics, had received bits and pieces of news. Augmented humans in Asia and Europe rising up, claiming some sort of right to leadership and instilling dictatorships. Most people shrugged it off as rumors, especially secluded Americans like herself.

"Apparently." John pointed at her hands and the crumpled up bills within them. "Pretty soon, that's going to be worthless."

Amelia shrugged, "No more than it is now." Because there had been optimism about the economy, built through propaganda. Propaganda that Amelia had been more than willing to indulge in simply because society hadn't fell just yet. And even if it did, she'd turn on her generator and wait out the worst of it.

Why did John seem so worried, when he knew that her little patch of land made her self sufficient?

She must have said some of her thoughts out loud because John responded with, "I'm worried because you may have food and water, but when the soldiers pass through you'll be alone."

"Maybe, but if they pass through we'll have more to worry about than the soldiers." She held out the _useless_ bills and John drew them from her grasp. Despite his negative statements, he still had faith in the system. Or was at least faking it.

"You can always stay in Flagstaff. I've got the guest house out at the ranch."

"Thanks for the offer, John." Kneeling down, she grabbed the backpack, swinging it onto her shoulder with a huff. Her eyes drifted towards the window of the shop, the sun just a few hours from setting. She'd need to leave soon if she wanted to make it home before dark. "But I can take care of myself."

"I hope so." Resignation settled on his face and Amelia wondered if the man thought more of her than just a customer. A daughter maybe? Perhaps that was why he was looking at her like he was about to lose a loved one.

She gave him a small smile, an attempt to not let her visit end of a sad note, though there wasn't much she could do to change the mood. "I'll see you in a couple of months." A promise of sorts. That she would take care of herself. That she asked the same of him.

"Yeah. I suppose so." He slipped her the receipt, catching her hand in his own. She looked down at his grip, noticing the dirt under his nails and the calluses against her palm. She'd misjudged him before. John made an excellent horticulturist. Not because he cared about a person, plant, or animal's mood, but because he took care of it. In his own way.

"A couple of months." She said again, and he released her, giving her a sad smile.

During the walk to her truck, she made several mental notes. Get the paper more often. Call John once a week. Restock on some non-perishables. Re-fill the five gallon gas jug. And do an inspection on the generator.

She recalled her great-grandmother telling stories about the depression. Preparation had kept them alive for the most part, along with a touch of luck. She intended on being prepared, especially with John's update on the war.

It was coming, even if she hadn't believed it before.

The dull red of her truck pulled her back to the present, her eyes drawn to the back where Henry stood tall. The Silver Puffs required her to lean over the bed to see them, their lack of buds testament to the season. She'd ensure that they made it with her to next year.

Tossing the backpack in the passenger seat, she climbed inside, looking over her shoulder at the nursery, rows of plants visible through the opaque plastic walls. Next trip she'd pick up tomatoes and squash.

Definitely.

As she pulled around front, John rested against the door frame watching her, his gaze following the Ford. With fingers against his forehead, he waved her off, his expression appearing grim even in the distance. He was still standing there when she looked in her rear view mirror, the store parted by tall Henry in the back of her truck.

Finally, she set to the road, the sun to her left, heating her arm on the window.

Her mind was occupied with news of New York City and she couldn't picture such a police state being enforced. Though it wouldn't be happening unless the military thought it necessary. Augments were said to be stronger, smarter, and overall superior to the standard person. Many myths surrounding their creation had started during the cold war and after some of the Nazi projections were made public.

Amelia made the decision to call a few of her friends when she arrived home, to see if they had heard anything from overseas. If all of this talk of war was true, then Europe and Asia were in deep peril.

Her eyes drifted to the passenger seat, the newspaper nestled under her backpack. Perhaps she would stop by town just before getting home and pick up a more local paper. Flagstaff news might have something concerning other states, but Page's daily ledger would be more telling of the situation close to home.

If there was one thing worth doing on a drive through the desert, it was thinking. She loved calling Arizona home, it's beauty rugged and unrefined, much like the man back at the nursery. Her eyes drifted across the desert plane, cacti standing a little slouched, tumble weeds occasionally taking their chances across the road.

The heat of the evening started to fade, the sun only halfway visible on the horizon, and Amelia yawned, exhausted from both the trip and her concerns. She caught a flash of movement from her corner of her eye, her foot hitting the brake and clutch together instinctively.

"Shit!" She swore, an uncommon occurrence, as the ford came to a sudden stop, fatigue suddenly replaced with adrenaline. The truck's shifter was jerked into park. It sputtered, stalled, and died just as she leaned up to get a good look in front of her bumper.

A coyote sat, unharmed with its ears down, in the center of the road. If looks could kill she'd be coyote food.

She silently said her thanks that she was alone on the road and no one had been injured. To include the still pissed-off animal before the truck. "Well, you caused this incident, buddy." Her voice must have startled the animal, because just as soon as she had spoken, it took off tin a sprint towards the desert, a small plume of dust following.

With a snort, she turned the key, quick clicking noises indicating a worse problem. Her eyes narrowed at the steering wheel, her hands already shoving up the fallen sleeves of her flannel shirt. Though the old ford was usually reliable... there were days she wished she could trade it in for something newer. An automatic perhaps.

She twisted the key again, that clicking noise grating on her frayed nerves. Resting her head against the steering wheel, she glanced out the driver's side window at the sunset. Her head shot back up almost immediately.

A ball, roughly the size of her garden shed, appeared silhouetted in front of the sun. Out of seemingly nowhere.

"What the hell?" Without the obstruction of buildings or forest, she could see it clearly even from a mile away. And the sight of it had her opening the driver's side door and stepping out onto the blacktop road. It hovered surrounded by strings of white light. If only she had kept one of those bulky phones in her truck. If only she owned one of those bulky phones.

For several moments she stood mesmerized by it, taking in its alien appearance. The thought spurred her to shout, "Oh my god. It's an alien!" Like with the coyote, she felt her words had some sort of affect, the light around the ball vanishing. Then it fell to the Earth.

The impact as it hit the surface made a soft thud, but she took distance into account and imaged it was much louder on site. After her stunned state faded, more assumptions came to mind. _If it's an alien, then it could be hurt. _First contact couldn't be remembered by humanity's lack of compassion, she determined. Impulsive behavior seemed to take over in place of panic.

Remembering that she kept a small first aid kit in her backpack, she ran to the passenger side of her truck and threw the door open. The strap was barely settled over her shoulder when she began the jog towards the foreign ball a mile away.

"Best thing you have in that kit is an ace bandage, '_Melia_." And if they were indeed aliens, then her lack of medical supplies might be irrelevant. Heart hammering in her chest, from both the jog and the situation, she was almost half-way there when another thought occurred to her.

The Augments. What if this was part of their invasion? What if that ball was used to keep them hidden from air traffic control. A sort of shield. Her body stopped moving, fear gripping her in place. John had been right to be concerned about her safety. She was in the middle of nowhere, being driven by her nature to help out strangers.

"It could be some sort of satellite." She reasoned, a slight hysterical laugh following. _But what kind of satellite suddenly appears in the sky? _"I'm just a horticulturist! Why do I have to make these decisions?!"

Amelia stared at the object resting just under half a mile into the desert, debating on if she should continue forward, or run back to the truck and get out of dodge. _Someone could be hurt. _Alien, augment, or astronaut, it made no difference.

Her feet started moving again, carrying her towards the sphere. As she closed the distance, trotting another quarter mile, she was able to see more details. No openings, doors, or hatches were visible on the white surface, which made her wonder if anyone really was inside.

How would they have gotten in there?

She was nearly two hundred meters away when the Alien theory seemed confirmed. The ball that had embedded itself a foot into the Earth, began to rise, small waves of heat drifting towards her. Then a single ring of light formed around it.

Even though it looked pretty, she was terrified. Amelia threw a glance over her shoulder, staring at her truck. If she jogged she could make it in seven minutes. If she ran she could make it in five. She turned her head back to face the levitating sphere, mimicking the salute that John had given her just a couple of hours prior.

"Looks like you have this handled."

And then she turned back and ran towards the haven of her little red Ford. _I am not dying today. _She told herself, unable to voice it through huffs of air. Behind her she could hear electrical sparks, like when she plugged something in wrong and heard a tiny buzz. Except these sounds weren't tiny and reminded her more of thunder.

And they only served to make her run faster.

Amelia wasn't an adept runner and the desert landscape didn't help matters. She stumbled over sudden dips in the ground, kept looking back over her shoulder at the shining ball that was now several feet in the air, and overall just failed to keep a good pace. That five minutes was quickly turning into seven.

Another glare was sent back at the sphere. Momentum carried her in a circle when she turned just a little too much, her back hitting dirt a second later. The air whooshed from her lungs, her gasping barely audible over the sound of thunder.

Just as her breathing became steady, everything turned white. Pain erupted in her ears, her hands instinctively moving to protect them. She'd been wrong about it all. There was no one inside because the damn thing was a weapon.

Her insides felt like they were being torn in different directions, the pain in her ears pushed to the side as she felt the need to throw up. Curling to her side she embraced the silence, her eyes squeezed tightly shut and forcing out built up tears.

_This is it. _Henry would be obliterated. John would be sad. Her little greenhouse would fall into rotting ruin. And worst of all is that she would die and she was barely 30.

A few seconds went by and she pulled a hand away from her ears, still terrified of what she might find when she opened her eyes. It was still alarmingly quiet and the wetness against her palms would be undeniably red and life altering.

Taking in a deep breath, she mustered up what little courage was left and opened one eye, putting a hand in front of her face. Blood seeped into the creases across her palm. "I'm still alive." she reminded herself, still by both her optimism and her pounding heartbeat. As she rolled over, her blurry gaze focused on the concrete beneath her, the sight of it no more a shock than the events that had just happened.

Where had the desert gone?

A burning sensation rose in her throat, her head swerving to get into posture just as the contents of her stomach ended up on the road. At least now her insides weren't twisted and she knew that most of them were working right.

Right enough to vomit anyway.

A strong gust of air hit the side of her face, drawing her attention up just in time to see a _floating_ car heading straight for her. Most people might have moved, or at least stood up. All Amelia did was stare until everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** I know I said I would only post once a week, but selfishly I want to put the story past the 10k marks to get some views. I know it is a slow start but I am already writing chapters with her on the Enterprise. I mean, what is the point without all our favorite characters? I hope you guys enjoy!

* * *

**STARDATE 2259.320**

**Shipyard Grant**

**Denver, Colorado**

Time is a funny thing, Amelia thought as she slowly pulled herself from the depths of slumber. The way it seems to pass in stages and each event in life is marked by it. Recently, it had struck at odd intervals, the times she had woke, reminding her with each conscious draw of breath that she was alive.

The first time had been chaos. A siren raged in the background, several faces above her showing a variety of emotions. Fear, anger, determination. The entire left side of her neck felt like it was on fire. Her mouth opened to scream but no sound escaped. The feel of multiple needles wasn't even enough to draw her attention from that pain against her throat.

Like salt on an open wound, the pain intensified. She tried to lift her hand to place pressure against it, but her limbs refused to cooperate, heavy against the ground. The last time she had dealt with this much pain, she's woken to find her parents were dead. The sudden invasive memory was enough to make her cry, wetness further blurring her already hazy vision.

"_She's conscious."_

"_That's impossible. Her nervous system should have kept her out."_

"_Hypospray!"_

A stabbing pain shot through her chest, right above her sternum. The sensation of cold water seemed to spread through her body and then the pain in her neck faded away. The cold became almost pleasant as she was pulled back into unconsciousness.

The second time was nowhere near as traumatic. Murmurs, beeps, and echoes of thunder drifted through the air. Her limbs were still heavy, but the heat in her neck had become a dull warmth. This time when she opened her mouth, tiny whimpers drifted to her ears.

The whimpers became background as someone started speaking. _"We saved her vocal cords. And the on-site repair of the eardrums seems to have been a success. Let's conduct another nerve test." _

Her eyelids were heavy, an attempt to open them unsuccessful. Fingers prodded against her neck, where the warmth was beginning to bloom. _"We need to use the dermal regenerator again. The tissue is breaking down." _

"_There could be some latent bacteria interfering with the new cells." _Now the warmth was becoming uncomfortable, Amelia's cries rising. _"Another hypospray. She just doesn't want to stay under." _Again, her sternum filled with liquid, relief explosive and exhausting. She didn't fight the pull, fully willing to succumb to the darkness.

"_Fascinating."_

The third and final time came with no significant amount pain, just a subtle ache that was familiar. She'd felt it before, after a day's worth of gardening, her limbs protesting each movement, but still obeying the commands. This time was just like that, her eyes opening at first try to see a soft yellow ceiling dotted with lights above her.

The day's – or was it several days'- events ran through her mind. _The Dogwood. The weapon. The car. The ambulance. _Amelia recalled the wound in her neck and she reached for it. Unmarred skin spanned the area where she was convinced a gap in flesh had once been. _It was pretty traumatic. Maybe you don't remember it correctly. _Or maybe the plastic surgeon on hand was a god.

Shifting in place, she realized that she was laying on some sort of cushion, the material firm and far from a decent substitute for a mattress. As she rolled over, the yellow ceiling became a yellow wall, windowless and door-less. Her head tilted in confusion.

It certainly didn't look like a hospital room.

As someone usually did when waking up in a strange place, she assessed herself. Everything seemed to be intact, but her clothes were replaced with a thin blue hospital gown. Without the protection of her jeans and flannel shirt, the cold of the room seeped into her skin, goosebumps forming on her arms.

Her bare feet were freezing, but she pushed aside the discomfort to focus on other things. Like the room she was in. Rising to her elbows and ignoring the twinge of soreness, she rotated her head to get a better view. The soft yellow walls connected to form a square room, a circular table in the center with three rolling chairs and a single hallway leading out from one corner.

The mat she rested on was elevated off the floor on a gurney, which should have made it easier to stand. Instead, when she dropped to her feet, vertigo struck fast and hard and she had to fight the churning of her stomach. She recalled throwing up not too long ago on a concrete road and it was a feeling she didn't want to repeat.

As soon as Amelia regained her equilibrium, she found herself face to face with three men, their abrupt presence almost enough to shock her into losing what was left in her stomach. A quick hiccup escaped instead.

"I see that you are recovering." If he had known what she was feeling, he wouldn't have said something so _dopey. _The three males were staring at her, one looking angry with a narrowed glare, another seeming to focus his concentration, and the one in the middle simply taking in her appearance. She didn't deny them the courtesy of the same, her gaze traveling across their identical yellow uniforms, the only difference lying in the embroidery of their collars.

It made her think of military rank, and she wouldn't have been surprised to learn the guess was correct.

"Who are you?" The first question she thought of was the first one she voiced, the stunned silence of the room begging to be broken.

"We'll get to that. Would you take a seat, Miss Wright?" It may have had all the components of a request, but it wasn't. The man in front waved his hand towards the gurney and for a brief second she considered telling him no.

But these men were some kind of para-military or special police force and denying them could lead to her having an even worse day. So Amelia ignored the rush of dizziness as she moved and pulled herself back onto the gurney. Her hands fell into her lap, her vision returning to find the three men seated in rolling chairs.

Maybe her sense of timing was off, and the vertigo lasted minutes rather than seconds, explaining their sudden appearance and the movement of the chairs in the room.

A prolonged silence ensued and she wondered if they were expecting her to break it first. Her sharp gaze landed on the man who had spoken, a sudden thought occurring to her. _Would you take a seat, Miss Wright. _"How do you know my name?"

"You had a bag with you when you arrived. There was identification in one of the pockets." At first he'd looked like he didn't want to tell her that, his eyes darting to his counterparts as if asking them for permission. Then he reached into his back pocket and pulled out the familiar shape of a driver's license. He gave it a quick once over before looking back at her. "Is Amelia Wright your real name?"

"Uh... yes." She kept a rapt focus on his expressions, trying to determine his emotions. His left brow lifted a little. Disbelief? If they were indeed military then they could tell the difference between a real ID and a fake one.

"And you were born in 1962?"

"Yes." The man turned to look at the one on his right who still had that intense concentration on his face. Tiny gestures passed between the two, an indication of an unspoken conversation. The other man on the left still glared at her.

It made her instantly uncomfortable... well more so than she had already been. The anger radiating from him set her into defensive mode, her own eyes narrowing in response. "What is this about?"

"Though you're not being charged with any crime, you did enter the perimeter of this shipyard without authorization. Until we can determine your reasoning, you are going to be held in this facility."

Shipyard? Perimeter? The state was landlocked. None of what he had said made any sense to Amelia. "Wait." Holding up her hand, more for herself than the three men, she continued to ask. "Why is there a Shipyard in Arizona?"

The main speaker looked back at the concentrating man. Another silent conversation ensued. At what she guessed was its conclusion, he turned back to her. "You're not in Arizona. You're in Denver, Colorado."

_That's over 10 hours from Page. _Her head was shaking, her breath coming in short pants. "No, no, no. That can't be right." How did she get there? How the hell was she going to get home?

"She doesn't understand." The concentrating man spoke for the first time, his statement addressed to the others.

"Of course I don't understand!"

"Mr. Keller... careful." At least she had a name to attach to the man on the right. But what was it that Mr. Keller had to be careful about. He was simply confirming the obvious. Her lack of understanding should have been clear.

Or maybe it wasn't obvious. They were treating her like an enemy. Maybe not with torture and a prison cell, but it was still very intimidating and until she figured out what they were she wasn't able to provide them with anything.

How long would they hold her? _Until they figure out how you got here. _But she didn't even know how that had happened. Weren't they responsible for her being there?

She shifted through recent memories, starting back with her purchase of Henry. The plant was probably still in the back of her truck, drooping or dead from the weapon. The idea of him not even making it a few hours after she had bought him made her a little sadder than it should have. No one would even know that she was missing for at least a few days, and even then it would just be a customer who showed up at her house.

Amelia steeled herself against crying. They weren't people who'd respond to tears, too intent on finding answers to questions they hadn't even asked yet. What she needed most was comfort and there were few places she could get that.

Plucking at the blue hospital gown, she gave a small sigh. "Can I have my clothes?" The familiar feel of denim was certain to make her feel better.

The main speaker, her interrogator, looked over his shoulder to Mr. Keller, who gave him a quick nod. Another one of those damn silent conversation occurred before he turned back. "We'll bring them in when we're done." However long that would take. "First, we want to know who you're working with."

"If I don't answer, does that mean I don't get my clothes?" Defiance struck before common sense, her teeth clenching in anger.

"We want a name. An organization. How did they get you on this installation?"

"I'm self employed. I'm part of the American Horticultural Society. And I don't know what 'they' you are talking about!" She didn't get violent and the sudden urge to throw something caught her by surprise. If there'd been anything within reach she probably would have followed through. _I'm the one who has been through hell the past few days. I'm the one who survived that weapon. And now I have to sit here and be interrogated by these... these... assholes!_

Mr. Keller flinched, his eyes widening slightly as he leaned in to talk to the man in front. The whispers were low, but enough to draw her out of the mental tirade.

"I just want my clothes." She whispered, her stare focused on the pale green of the carpeted floor.

Whatever Mr. Keller had whispered was enough to set the odds in her favor. "Lieutenant Commander, go get Miss Wright's clothes." The man who was glaring stood abruptly. The surprise on her face wasn't hidden as she watched him walk towards the hallway and out of sight.

After another long silence, the man in front finally asked, "Tell us about the weapon." She tilted her head, confused. She hadn't said anything about it, or at least she was pretty certain that her mental conversation hadn't become a vocal one.

_They're the government. Maybe they already know about it. _"It um... it was a ball. A sphere about twelve feet in diameter. It just... appeared. In the sky. And it had these rings of light around it. At first I thought it was Aliens." Despite her fading anger, and how uncomfortable she felt, she still managed a small laugh. "Stupid really. But the rings disappeared and it fell."

She thought back to that night, how worried she was that someone inside was hurt. What had she said? Aliens, Augments, or Astronauts... it didn't matter. "Then the lights came back on. And it exploded."

"Exploded?"

"Yeah. Everything hurt. It was loud. Heat waves. Pretty much what you'd feel after being near an explosion. Next thing I know I'm in an ambulance. And then some doctors are talking." Amelia stopped, frowning as the memory slowly returned. "And here we are."

"You don't know how you got here?" Hadn't she made that clear?

"She doesn't. She has no idea why she's being held here. The only thing we are doing is scaring her." Mr. Keller managed to hit the nail on the head, his concentrated gaze still focused on her. Her brow raised. He was good at reading people. Perhaps he was like one of those trained detectives in movies. Or maybe just really observant. Sherlock Holmes style.

"What are you, Psychic?"

That earned him a glare from her interrogator. "Mr. Keller-"

"No. We've done enough, Commander. She's a victim in this." Something passed between the two of them, agitation maybe. Some form of insubordination?

"Wait." Her hand rose, palm out, and they both faced her. "Did the government send that weapon to the desert? I figured it was Augments. Wouldn't you guys at least check for people!?" The fact that all this was their fault spurred another wave of anger.

She was really losing her cool today.

"How could the military be so _stupid!?_" Her hiss echoed in the room.

"Miss Wright, we didn't send a weapon to Arizona." The Commander sounded defensive, but that quickly changed into curiosity. "Also, why would you think augments were responsible?"

"Because they invaded New York City yesterday." Or two days ago... or whenever.

"Yesterday?"

"Yes! It was in the paper." Even though she hadn't read it, she was sure that what John had told her would have been on the front page. "I picked one up the morning that I saw the weapon."

"Commander." Mr. Keller stood, looking almost tired from the ordeal. _You and me both, buddy. _"I think we have enough to have Miss Wright transferred from the facility."

Her interrogator gave a small nod, his hand waving towards the hallway. "Go ahead and start on your report. I'll stay with her until Geoffrey gets back." Geoffrey must have been the Lieutenant Commander.

"She may be innocent, Commander. But she's still pretty sharp." If she didn't know any better, she would have thought Mr. Keller was giving her a compliment.

They didn't have to wait long before the angry man returned, carrying her flannel shirt and blue jeans. On top was even a fresh set of underwear, which made her almost like the guy. Neither one of them flinched when she started to get dressed, the gown large enough for her to maneuver the clothes without revealing anything significant.

Maybe the military desensitized them. Either way, she was willing to sacrifice the modesty in order to feel that touch of comfort. It was almost immediate as she buttoned up the shirt.

"Thanks." She looked down at her bare feet, but didn't say anything. "Do you have what you need? Can I go home now?" To Page. To her little greenhouse.

The Commander's next words killed any optimism she held on to, his expression a mixture of grimness and reluctance. "That might not be possible right now." But this time she kept any tears and anger at bay.

* * *

**STARDATE 2259.321**

**Shipyard Grant**

**Denver, Colorado**

After the interrogation session, Amelia was moved from what she learned was 'the yellow room' into a barracks style one. It was a spacious flat, fully furnished with red cloth furniture, a small bathroom, and galley kitchen. Though not quite large enough to be an apartment, she was told to make herself comfortable for the next few days.

In one corner of the room there was a twin sized bed, the mattress quite a step up from the mat she had woken on. As soon as Commander Richard O'Shea, Mr. Harry Keller, and Lieutenant Commander Geoffrey Salo had left her in the room, she'd made use of that bed, sleep coming before her shoes had even been taken off.

Amelia dreamed of flowers and trees, bright yellow tulips growing in the shade of tall oaks. It was pleasant, invoking feelings of home and comfort. The subconscious mind tends to take two paths while one is asleep. The path of joy. And then the sudden dark path of fear. The oak lost its leaves, the dead orange drifting down until it piled high and heavy on the tulip.

The Autumn sky turned gray and everything lost its jubilant color. Then the ball appeared in the sky, surrounded by black rings that were almost invisible in front of the clouded sky. With a thunderous roar it exploded, a twisted version of Amelia's memory. The leafless tree caught fire, ash fluttering to the ground.

The forest burned.

She woke up screaming, sweat making her clothes cling to her body. It took several moments for her to catch her breath, her eyes darting rapidly around the dark unfamiliar room. It wasn't home... not even close, but she still managed to find her way towards the door, her hand spanning the wall just below eye level.

_No matter where you are, some things stay the same,_ she thought as her fingers touched a raised area. She clicked on the lights. Her gaze traveled to the opposing wall, an analog clock hanging in the center. 7:49 AM. In eleven minutes, Richard would be there, expecting her to be ready to write down everything that had happened the night she saw the ball in the sky.

He had said there were other people she needed to meet, some of the few select personnel who were aware of her unauthorized arrival. If they treated her the same as Richard had when they'd first met, she'd rather not see any of them.

But keeping them at bay would only delay her chances at getting home. She had to get it together and deal with the now in order to see her greenhouse in the future. 7:49 AM. Amelia frowned, lost in thought and now running behind.

She slowly traveled to the bed, a set of clothes on a small nightstand. They were white with black trim, and not too different from the uniforms that Richard, Harry, and Geoffrey had been wearing. Except there was no insignia on the collar or on the breast.

However, they were far different than anything she was used to wearing. Even the shoes didn't seem to offer much protection, lightweight cloth that she'd happily trade in for a pair of boots.

The commander had said that later she'd be given more options, but today was going to be busy enough. "_No time for show and tell until after reports were filed." _He had said.

Her eyes drifted up to the small mirror above the nightstand as she began to unbutton the flannel shirt. A shower had worked wonders the night before, her blond hair only looking slightly tousled from sleep. The elastic band, kept around her wrist from habit, was taken to the hair as she made it into a ponytail. It wasn't very creative, but it kept stray locks from hanging in front of her blue eyes.

And mama always said that she shouldn't hide them. _They'll get you everywhere. _She had said with a knowing smile.

Thankfully, she'd managed to figure out the zippers on her new clothes, and by the time a beep sounded at the door she was already lacing the shoes. "Come in!" The door didn't swing open, but instead moved into the wall. The first time she'd seen it, Richard had simply stated that the military preferred efficiency to tradition.

And, apparently, swinging doors weren't efficient...

There were other minor differences in the way the military operated than normal people. Where her cell phone would have been the size of a portable TV, theirs were more advanced, fitting in a palm. The computers were also smaller and seemed to be everywhere, but she had yet to get an opportunity to closely examine one. Maybe they would eventually let civilians in on _that_ technological advancement.

Amelia still had an ancient typewriter sitting on her desk that rarely had correction tape and was missing at least three letters. She was picturing it until someone cleared their throat at the door.

Finishing the lace's bow, Amelia looked up to see Richard and Mr. Keller wearing the exact same clothes as yesterday. _Duh. Military uniforms. _It wasn't as though they'd be walking around in jeans and tees any time soon. Though she wouldn't mind seeing Richard in a pair of jeans.

Upon closer inspection of Mr. Keller, she noticed a familiar strap across his shoulder. "My bag!" Just the sight of it made her feel a little better. A little less lost. He shrugged it off, holding it out in offering.

"I was given authorization to return it, however the gardening tools have been confiscated for the time being." Before she could ask why, he continued. "They are rather pointed." It almost wasn't worth getting the thing back if they took the one thing she'd cared about most. _Don't be silly. You have your ID and money..._

But those tools had been her mother's, refurnished and kept in prime condition. "So... does someone think I'm going to go around stabbing people with a trowel?" Amelia almost sneered, but kept her voice level as she took the bag from him, giving Richard a sideways glare.

"Just a precaution." Mr. Keller supplemented, his voice carrying a touch of apology. "It's likely you will get them back by the end of the day. After reports."

"Speaking of which," Richard gave her a pointed look. "I hope you have a good recollection of what happened."

"It's still pretty fresh." The nightmare had oddly enough helped matters, the image of that ball current and clear. Concerned with what the rest of the day would entail, she prompted, "What's on the agenda?"

"You'll make a written report, an oral report, and then we'll draw up some diagrams." Draw up diagrams? _Of the ball?_

She pinched the bridge of her nose, giving a frustrated sigh as she adjusted the backpack on her shoulders. Even though she'd already steeled herself against the day, it felt like a rehash of the night before. "I already told you what happened."

"Amelia-" Richard hadn't used her first name often, but she noticed he'd begun to when he felt she wasn't understanding. It grated just a little on her nerves. "-you must realize that we're doing everything we can to both protect you and our own people. If some of my superiors had their way, you'd be in a prison cell right now." She wondered if this was just a tactic, or if he was seriously on her side. Some form of good cop-bad cop.

"Because I gained 'unauthorized access' to the shipyard." They both looked confused as she made air quotes, as if the action was foreign, or potentially insulting. With the way they stared she wasn't quite sure.

Eventually, Richard clarified. "That... among a few other things." He ran his hand across the back of his neck, a nervous gesture that she wouldn't have expected of the seemingly controlled man. She wondered if it had to do with the superiors he had mentioned before. "We need to get on our way. A lot of people want to meet you."

"I bet." She muttered as they started out of the room. Even without any personal belongings she still asked about locking it, to which Richard said that wasn't necessary. She wasn't sure if that meant the base was safe, or they simply didn't care about the room.

The building was unlike any she'd seen before, several corridors connecting it to other buildings. Richard wasn't very specific about the compound, but every now and then he'd point out something of interest.

The dining facility. A recreation area. A gym.

Amelia was surprised to see more people. Passersby in uniforms, silver medallions against their breasts. She came to realize that silver badge was a symbol of their branch. They weren't Army, Navy, or Air Force... but they were indeed all in the same military group.

She wanted to ask Richard about it, but when she turned to him, he had stopped walking, standing by a door similar to her own. "Mr. Keller, I'll walk with her the rest of the way. Could you make sure that Lieutenant Commander Salo arrives on time?"

"I will escort him, Sir." Mr. Keller said with a nod.

Richard cast a quick glance at the closed door, then looked at her over his shoulder. "He doesn't like me." Amelia said, recalling the angry stares that Geoffrey Salo had been sending her during the interrogation.

"No. That's why you'll be walking with just me."

"Better look out. I still have a driver's license. I could card you to death." She saw the shadow of a smile on his face.

Richard gave her an amused once over. "I think I can take you." Then he started off, leaving Mr. Keller behind.

It took roughly ten minutes for them to make it back to 'the yellow room'. It was arranged differently than when she'd been there yesterday, the gurney gone and several chairs surrounding the oval table. A couple of pens were resting on a full sized yellow pad of paper.

She'd expected to be writing on something a little more formal, but Richard gave a small wave for her to sit down. "They'll be here soon." She had no idea who Richard was referring to, but she kept silent, picking up one of the pens and giving it a cursory glance.

The bag on her shoulder was dropped to the floor, forgotten as she uncapped the pen. In no time she'd drawn small circles in the corner. _Pens work. Of course they work. Don't want to miss this opportunity to make my hands sore. How detailed do I have to write this? I mean... I've never been that great at this sort of thing. _Her thoughts continued to ramble on, but she didn't voice them.

"Amelia." She looked up from the pad of paper, her eyes meeting Richard's. "I know this is all very frustrating, but you'll need to bear with me. When they come in, don't stand. I'll introduce everyone and they'll sit down. They might ask you to begin writing or they might want you to start with the oral report. Everything in this room is recorded so hopefully you won't have to do this again." He looked towards the hallway and Amelia could hear footsteps in the distance. "Mr. Keller and I have fought on your behalf so you'd have some freedoms during the investigation. Don't be surprised if others look at you like the enemy."

_The enemy?_

Just as he finished, three new people stepped into the room. Their uniforms were different colors, two wearing red, and one wearing blue. Everyone looked so pristine, save the man in blue who looked a little worse for wear. She didn't feel like anyone considered her an enemy, everyone almost curious in the way they watched her.

They didn't waste any time, taking seats across from her as Richard began the introductions. A hand landed on her shoulder and she glanced up to see Richard giving her a nod. As soon as Mr. Keller and Lieutenant Commander Salo stepped inside, she was told to begin writing.

Salo glared, making her wonder if the only one who considered her the enemy was him. Amelia ignored it the best she could, rarely glancing up once the pen met paper.

She started with John and the nursery, figuring he would be important since he was the one who mentioned the augments. She fought threatening sadness that came with thoughts of home, but reminded herself it had only been a couple of days and they hadn't so bad. Food and board had been provided, even if she was 'unauthorized' personnel.

The good things kept her focused as she described the ball, being as detailed as possible. Shining light. Description of the explosion. There wasn't much when she came to the section about arriving in Denver. Just that she saw the car. A few glimpses of doctors. And then her interrogation.

She even used that word since that's what it had felt like.

Everyone asked to read everything, their eyes quickly scanning the pages, some questioning her handwriting, and a few others asking for more details about the ball. She was glad when it was over because her hand had started cramping and Salo's glares were harder to push aside. As soon as the oral part was over, she hoped he would leave.

Even though Amelia had never been questioned by police, she was pretty sure it was similar to this... except cops would have had more guns.

The oral report went much quicker on her end, but more questions were posed. The man in a blue uniform left with one of the others in red when she was done, and she wondered if her time there was almost finished. Richard had mentioned something about diagrams, but she had no idea what that meant.

"She's lying." Amelia wasn't surprised to hear the Lieutenant Commander's accusation, his narrowed glare persisting, just the same as it had yesterday. She was certain that the facial expression was the culprit behind all his wrinkles.

"She's not lying." Mr. Keller defended, looking annoyed by the behavior. The newcomer in the red shirt seemed to share that annoyance, glancing between the two. Richard simply ran a hand across his forehead.

"Did you consider that she's been trained to evade you?" Salo's voice rose as he stood from his seat, pointing an accusing finger at Amelia. She wondered if he meant she'd received some kind of special training... like what special forces get to prepare for capture. Maybe they often trained women for those tasks, and this was some sort of projection.

"She's not evading. It's the truth to her." _To her? _Versus what other kind? She arched a brow at Mr. Keller's words.

"She could be a sleeper agent."Had she really given indication of being some kind of spy?

The man in the red shirt also stood from his seat, his voice low and demanding. "Commander Salo... You need to step outside."

He was getting madder now, his jaw clenched and his breathing rapid. Amelia considered stepping back, away from him further. The table didn't look like it would be barrier enough if he decided to attack her. And she certainly felt like that was a possibility. "There is only one way to tell for sure."

Mr. Keller must have picked up on something because he stood, suddenly angry. "We are not drugging her and we're not using a Vulcan." _Vulcan?_

Salo waved his hands in the air, incredulous that no one seemed to be taking him seriously. Another pointed finger was shoved in her direction, his shouting rising. "You're acting like she's one of us!"

"We never said that. All we said was that she isn't responsible." Her chair rolled back, someone having grabbed the spine. Richard swiftly stepped in front of her. An act of protection, his body and the table now standing between her and Salo. "Security."

He hadn't said it to anyone in particular, but the reaction was instant. Two more men entered the room, their eyes focused on her. "Not Miss Wright." Richard corrected. "Lieutenant Commander Salo." For a brief moment, they seemed confused, but then the two simultaneously grabbed Salo's arms. "It was a mistake having you on this case. Chief of Security or not, you're being removed.

"You're the one who's making a mistake! She's working for _Khan_." Khan? The name held no meaning to her, Amelia's head tilting to the side. The others, however, all stiffened, various emotions on display. Richard was sullen. Mr. Keller was angry. The two guards halted in shock. Salo still huffed in anger.

Amelia realized that whoever this Khan was... he was a bad man. And Salo had attached her to him for one reason or another. It would have explained his hatred towards her, if there had been any logical reason for him to associate the two.

Mr. Keller spoke first, his voice steady, but quiet. "Khan was a terrorist. An augment who launched an attack against the military and killed thousands in San Fransisco."

"That can't be right. The public would have heard about it. _I_ would have heard about it. The only news about augments we've had is that they could be in New York. On the other side of the country." Unless this had happened within the past two days. The pieces started to fit. All the isolation. All the questions.

Was everyone concerned about her being a... terrorist? Her eyes drifted to the hallway, hazily watching Salo's back. When she found her voice, she finally asked, "You think I'm a terrorist?" Richard looked slightly apologetic, but not accusatory.

He sighed. "We weren't sure. We had good reason to suspect, but our suspicions have been relieved."

"The commander doesn't seem to think so." Another pointed look towards the hallway.

"Right now he's blinded by anger." Richard took a moment to look regretful, as if he should have noticed that building rage before now. In a way, Amelia also blamed him for putting her in a potentially dangerous situation.

But instead she just prodded, "It sounds... personal. Like he's putting something on me."

"He is. But he is also one of the leading experts on Augments. Having him has been invaluable." Another first, having Richard tell her who did what at the compound. It seemed they were dropping their guard, allowing her more and more information.

"Why divulge all this now?" Amelia's eyes met his, and she was again surprised to see a ghost of a smile appear on Richard's face.

"Because I have about thirty minutes to earn your trust before we tell you how we think you got here." _Are they sure? _The tactic was successful, a growing sense of faith forming between them. He hadn't lied to her... that she was aware of, and he had done everything in his power to make her more comfortable.

And now it was like he was pulling her within this secret circle. "But I don't even know how I got here."

Before he could respond the two men who had left earlier, red and blue shirt, returned, their eyes darting to the missing space that once sat Salo. Neither mentioned his disappearance and no one seemed inclined to fill them in.

The man in the blue shirt, approached her, his expression exceptionally curious. A dancing light seemed to twinkle in his brown eyes with a head of unkempt hair and locks falling across his gaze. If she had to guess she'd say he hadn't slept in days.

He stretched out his hand, palm sideways and flat. Without hesitation, she grasped it. Her first handshake at the compound. It was almost landmark. When he spoke, his voice was inviting, a touch of excitement to it, despite the words. "We have a theory on how you got here, but you won't like it. And you're going to have a harder time believing it."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **This chapter is pretty short, I know. To make up for it I'll consider doing another update this week. I debated whether or not to add it to another chapter, but I felt like it was solid as a stand alone. Enjoy!

* * *

**STARDATE 2259.321**

**Shipyard Grant**

**Denver, Colorado**

The man in blue introduced himself as Doctor Jacob Jefferson, a self proclaimed expert on warp fields. His earlier exclamation still rang in her head. _Y__ou won't like it. And you're going to have a harder time believing it. _

_You won't like it. _What made it worse was how excited the man sounded. Like he was getting a new toy. Why in the world would someone be happy when someone else was going to get bad news? _You're going to have a harder time believing it. _That statement, however, might have been a lie.

She'd been through quite a bit in the last two days, able to adapt and fill in information where she could... where the pieces most fit. The board was becoming clearer now. Salo's hatred. Richard's suspicion. Mr. Keller's astute observation. Richard's active hover mode.

Believing something wasn't so hard when all the evidence pointed towards it. Impossible wasn't a word she used very often and she didn't plan on starting now. Amelia had made tropical plants bloom in the desert. She'd traveled 600 miles in the blink of an eye.

How much crazier could things really get?

Taking another look at the man in blue, she noticed a rolled up poster under his arm, its edges crisp and new. He followed her gaze, jerking his head towards it. "This is a diagram of the sphere you saw. Take a seat and I'll show you. It's amazing really."

She would have used the word terrifying, but... to each his own. When he rolled out the poster, she was taken by surprise with the amount of detail. They must have used her written description, minute details standing out. The size of the rings, the number...

They had even shaded them, making the image look just like the ball in the air she'd seen. "We're pretty sure the rings are designed to create some kind of grid. You said there were four in your report, but the computer estimated that five would make exact segments. There could have been more, but we wanted to stay close to what you had described."

"It's... perfect." She fixed a stare at Jefferson. "But what does it do?"

"Well, we're pretty sure that it's not a weapon. It's more likely that it was a ship." There was an extended silence while they waited for her to process that. A ship. _And not one that goes in the water. _She recalled how it hovered above the ground. _Like a rocket ship. _

Richard reached out to trace one of the sketched rings on the drawings. With a hesitant voice he stated, "We think it was a time travel device."

Amelia snorted, unable to stop herself. Then she laughed. "You can't be serious." Mr. Keller's gaze went dark. Richard stared at her. And Jefferson nodded. "Like, H.G. Wells? Or that Delorean?" What the hell was a time travel device doing in the middle of the desert? What the hell was a time travel device doing anywhere? "That's impossible." The word escaped her before she could stop it, an automatic response to something so outrageous. This... this would fit into that narrow category of impossible.

"It's impossible right now. If anything it came from the future." Richard said it as though the statement made sense.

"You're telling me. That this thing. Can move through time." The response came out broken, separated with pauses of disbelief. Amelia shot a wide stair at Jefferson, the 'Doctor' of warp fields... whatever that meant. How had he ever made it in science?

_Time Travel? _

"We're telling you that it explains how you got here." Was she the only one who thought this was absurd?

"But I'm still in 1992. It's only been a couple of days. I just moved location."

Shaking his head, Richard leaned forward to catch one of her hands. She jerked it back, dropping it into her lap. "Amelia. I'm sorry, but it's not 1992. It's-"

She interrupted him, still focused on how absurd this all sounded. Still reeling that they were trying to explain something like this. Time travel? "And if it was a time travel device, why didn't it land with me?" Amelia had to find the holes in their logic... point it out so they ceased trying to make her believe the ridiculous.

Jefferson continued, his words coming quick and urgent as he attempted to convince her. "We theorized that you were just caught in it's wake and dragged forward along the path it was taking."

"No... this is some kind of joke. Some kind of mental game you're playing with me." Because she'd just used the word impossible and she never used that word. The military was setting her up, trying to make her lose her mind.

She slapped a hand against the table, suddenly furious. At Richard, for pretending to be on her side. At Jacob, for giving her false hope. And at Mr. Keller for being that annoying constant in the room. "No!"

"Miss Wright. Listen to me." As soon as Mr. Keller started talking, her anger reluctantly began to fade, an unexplainable pull to calm down. "You come from a time just before the Eugenics War began. Augments took over, enslaved humans. The very fact that you're from the year 1992 is the reason you were held for questioning. Six months ago, San Fransisco suffered an attack by Khan Singh, an augment who was a leader during that War."

He shot a sideways glance at Richard. "She doesn't understand." Words he had said before, that continued to understate how she felt.

"You expect me to believe this?" From their faces, she already had her answer. They not only expected her to believe it... but for her to embrace it.

"1992 is history for us. You remember, Amelia... I told you that it might not be possible for you to go home."

Because he was saying that her home didn't exist? But Mr. Keller had just said an Augment from her time was responsible for a terrorist attack in theirs. As if reading her mind, Mr. Keller supplied, "Khan was cryogenically frozen after the Eugenics War ended in 1996. The attack was a result after he was revived." Cryogenically frozen...

"How long?" Has it been? Has she traveled?

It wasn't as though Amelia wanted to believe them, but rather that she felt an oncoming dread that she had no choice in the matter. If she walked outside, how different would the world be? They hadn't answered her, which made that sick feeling in her stomach grow.

"Everyone I know?" She knew what answer was coming, bracing her hands against the table as if preparing to absorb a physical blow instead of a verbal one. Her eyes drifted closed, droplets of salty water falling from the corners.

Richard successfully caught her hand in his own. "I'm sorry, Amelia. You're in the year 2259." 2259. 260 years. "I know that this is a lot to take in. We can hold off on the rest until you've come to grips with this."

"I can't..." _You can. You have to. You're in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people in an unfamiliar time. You have to stop crying and start focusing on the next step. Pick the plant, buy the soil, set it in the ground, and fertilize it. It'll grow. _"I can hear it now."

"We've achieved space travel."

She snorted. "The moon landing was a few years before I was born. I'd hope there was some advancement there."

"We've achieved faster than light travel." Of course they had. Two hundred years was a long time. Long enough to invent all sorts of things. Eventually someone would even invent a time machine. "This military organization... it's called Starfleet."

"Star Fleet." She repeated, her legs growing weak. Not only was there time travel, but there was a fleet specifically designed to explore the stars. Her butt found the chair. "You explore space. That's why there's a shipyard in the middle of the desert." Because they weren't building boats. They were building space ships.

It was perfectly clear now. Overwhelming, but... clear. "We don't have to do this now. We can go slow, introduce you to these things when the time is right."

"The time is right." She wasn't much better than a parrot now, doomed to repeat everything that Richard was saying. Amelia laughed, more tears building up in her eyes. "The time. Ha! I guess there's no better time than 2259." That calm feeling was fading now, hysteria rising in its place.

"I can't help her." Mr. Keller said, casting a frustrated glance her way.

"I don't think anyone would be capable of that right now." She whispered, realization sinking in. It was all true, of that she was certain. Her life as she knew it was over. Her greenhouse was gone, John was long dead... along with her customers. And there would be no more visits to where her parents rested in the ground.

The plants had probably withered away from neglect. Her little red ford would have been found in the middle of the road, with no driver in sight. All she had left was the bag at her feet and the clothes on her back. And the clothes weren't even hers...

"We'll help you establish a life." Mr. Keller again, looking far less frustrated, gentle concern lacing his features.

"I had a life!" Grief shifted to anger on the drop of a dime. Her usual balance was disrupted as she attempted to process everything. Deep down she knew they were doing their best to ease her while still being truthful. But even that fact wasn't enough to help her stay level.

Richard again, with that ever understanding demeanor. "You're a smart woman, Amelia. You know that you'll have to start again. Let us help you."

"I don't really have a choice now, do I?"

The man in blue, ignored for the most part, finally jumped in. "Ma'am. There's so much we can learn from you. So much you could learn from us. It won't be that bad."

"Yeah? And what would I have to give to a society that's had hundreds of years to advance themselves. I know how to plant flowers and trees. My knowledge is pretty limited." The idea made her feel small and insignificant, despite the fact that several high ranking officers sat before, devoting their time to walking her though this.

"History from 1992 is skewed because of the war. Your very life is valuable to us." That excitement returned to the man in blue. Was this the reason he had seemed so happy about her appearance?

"Doctor Jefferson is correct. You will contribute great things." Her life flashed before her, small moments that defined her time. Technology. Agriculture. Lifestyle. Did it really matter so much? In that strange way that Mr. Keller had of being able to read her mind, he continued, "Of course it matters."

"I have nothing. No home. No money. I don't think the few twenties I got will cover much." Not that that money was even in circulation. An annoyed huff left her.

Richard piped up. "Currency isn't always used in society now and we'll make sure you're taken care of."

"I don't want to be kept here." Amelia couldn't even imagine being inside the compound all day. Not when her days used to be spent in the sun, her hands in the dirt. Again the cycle of emotions started over, home sickness kicking in at the thought of her greenhouse.

"You can still garden. There's still several schools that focus in horticulture." Richard managed to peak her interest, her gaze meeting his own. "The technology may have changed, but technique is probably the same. Shove it in the dirt and let it do it's thing."

"I bet you've killed a lot of plants with those steps." Someone laughed, the sound making her feel just a little bit better. At least there was something to look forward to. "I need a minute. Can... everyone just leave for a minute?"

They all looked to Richard, waiting for approval. With a quick glance her way he gave it, a single nod. One by one, they filed out of the room.

Except the commander. Richard stayed, as he always had. For a few moments he didn't say anything. No comment on the tears that ran down her cheeks. No encouragement that she would make it through. Just silence.

Which she gladly embraced. Amelia enjoyed silence. Maybe it was the reason she lived thirty minutes from anyone. Maybe it was the reason she preferred plants to people. Plants didn't scare you with thoughts of war and mayhem. Plants didn't remind you that your parents were dead and one day you'd be over it. And Plants didn't screw up time travel and completely ruin your life.

At thirty years old, Amelia would have to start all over. In an unfamiliar world with unfamiliar people. Even she wasn't certain that putting it back together was possible.

After a good ten minutes, Richard finally broke. "You're taking this well."

"No, I'm not. I'm just faking it so you don't put me in a straight jacket." The two of them seemed to pass humor well with one another. Richard gave a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

"We don't treat our disabled that way. You'd just be medicated and given counseling." How much things had changed...

The corner of her mouth tilted upwards in a small grin. "I still might need the latter."

"We can get you someone." There was a touch of seriousness to his tone and Amelia looked up from her chair to see him leaning against the table. "Don't be put off by it. All of us have to see a counselor once in a while."

"I'm not ashamed. I'm just... lost." She was sure he didn't blame her for that. In fact, the look on his face said he was blaming someone very far away.

"We'll help you find your way."

"Why are you so interested?"

"Because we're a civilized society. We protect out wounded. And you're wounded now, whether you accept it or not." He started at the yellow wall, seemingly lost in thought. A variety of emotions fluttered across his face, finally landing on sadness. "I lost my sister in San Fransisco. When I first heard of your arrival, the estimated time that you were from, I was like Salo. Angry. Bitter. I don't know if I hid it well, but the moment I saw you... you reminded me so much of her. Maybe it was the hospital gown. Maybe it was just your honesty. So innocent. And then Mr. Keller confirmed that you were indeed a victim in all this."

"Am I a project for you?"

"I want you safe, Amelia. I'll pull every resource I can into making sure that happens." She believed him, that trust he was asking for earlier now given with little reluctance. Her choices were limited... to pretty much zero.

"Where do I go from here?"

Shrugging, Richard gave her a sideways look that said he'd already considered that. "New identity. A job. We'll get you settled."

"How will people react when they find out I'm from 1992?" He stiffened at the question, and she knew the answer wasn't going to be in her favor.

"That's another thing. No one can know except us. You saw how Salo reacted... just because he knew you were from the past. Others may not have his restraint, especially with tension so high from Khan's attack." He made sense, his reasoning solid, even with the short explanation. So she'd have to lie about her past. A price to pay for still being alive? "We'll try and keep your personal history as close to accurate as we can. Just a few dates and places will need to be changed."

"So Amelia Wright is now born in what... 2229?" Richard nodded.

They sat in silence for a while, until several more strangers filed into the room. They shook her hand, some asking about what life was like back then, some just curious to see the girl from 1992. Richard stayed with her, being as diplomatic as ever.

By the time they were finished, all she wanted to do was lay down and grieve for the life she lost... the one they were so damn interested in.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Still working up to the fun stuff. As you can see, Amelia's life is going to be seen in stages. Isolated events that build her character and highlight some of our other favorites. I'm glad you guys are enjoying my OC. I pondered for quite some time before starting this story about what kind of woman I wanted the main character to be and I find Amelia very fitting. :) Enjoy!

* * *

**STARDATE 2259.355**

**Shipyard Grant**

**Denver, Colorado**

Dirt flew from her gloves as she shook her hand in sporadic rapid motions. Most of it landed in the plant bed, but several specks ended up dusting her jeans. She'd stopped wearing the white uniform while working in the garden, despite the attention that denim drew. White just wasn't very practical when it came to this kind of work. At least the jeans would be good again for tomorrow.

She looked down at the freshly planted tulips, a smile coming to her face. They would have never thrived outside, the cold weather of December killing almost every flower that sprouted out of the ground. But the garden was inside, technology allowing a perfect environment all year round. Her tulips would grow to take over the mostly empty bed. She couldn't wait to see their progress in a few months.

"You think the name Lily would be just a little too ironic?" She arched a brow as she asked the flower. "I thought so. We'll go with... Amanda. You all look like Amandas."

Still in a kneeling position, she reached back by her feet, her hands seeking out a small square device. They'd called it a Tricorder and apparently it did analysis on almost anything. The one she held was given to her by the lead gardener on the shipyard, Garren Lou. Garren had tried to show her how to use it, but the entire time she'd been distracted by the antennas sticking out of his head.

And his blue skin. The Andorian hadn't seemed too offended by her curiosity. He'd just sighed, annoyed more that she hadn't learned anything about the tricorder.

Now she used it like a pro. It was already powered on, her thumb holding down a button on the side as it read the pH level of the soil, feeding her information on nitrogen and various other chemicals that had been part of the fertilizer compound. The tulips would do quite well if the readings were correct.

"Amelia!" A familiar, and particularly upset, voice rang out from the double doors of the garden, the footsteps that followed heavy and paced. She didn't look back, instead shoving her tools and gloves into a plastic bag before piling them into her backpack.

"Hey, Richard."

"You missed your appointment at sickbay." And here Richard was to round her up and escort her. She shot him a glare, not missing the fact that he wasn't wearing his uniform. A relaxed set of black clothes had taken it's place, long sleeved and warm. "Don't look at me like that. Next time they'll just use the transporter." The threat of the transporter was enough to send her to her feet, her brief inspection of him brought to a halt.

"They wouldn't." Amelia had made it perfectly clear that she would never voluntarily use the death machine, only to be put back together a new person. "It takes you apart, Richard! Why am I the only one who is freaked out by that?" She had been assured that no one would force her to use the transporter unless it was a life or death situation.

"They will. You got to keep updated on your hyposprays." Because she was from 1992, there had been a large medical concern as to what bacteria she carried. Bacteria that Starfleet medical had eliminated _years_ ago. "I'll go with you."

"I bet you will. You'll watch on as they stab me in the neck five times. And you'll smile and laugh, just like the past four times that I've been to sickbay." He didn't deny it. The bag in her hands went to her back and together they started for the door.

Casting a look back at the garden as they passed through the doors, Richard asked, "Are you liking it here?"

A loaded question, but Amelia didn't feel intimidated by it. It had been a common one, mainly asked by the select few who knew how she had arrived. "It's... I'm adjusting. Garren has been giving me a crash course on 2259 horticulture. A lot has changed." She hadn't expected it to be easy, but the technology learning curve had been steeper than she'd thought it would be.

"You seem to be doing well. I liked the tulips." They entered into a long hallway that Amelia referred to as 'sickbay row'. Instead of looking dull and uninviting as usual, it had been adorned with random batches of green leaves, red berries in the center of each cluster.

A reminder of the season, that had her dreading sickbay a little less. "They decorated!" The only other indication of the upcoming holiday had been a small evergreen sitting in the reception are of the shipyard's headquarters.

She was getting the impression that even though Christmas was celebrated, it was secular and not near as commercial as it was in her time. In fact, it had only been mentioned in passing, a few Starfleet personnel talking about vacation every now and then.

Did they still buy gifts for each other?

Richard interrupted her assumptions, his tone jovial and slightly accusing. "I think it's more to calm the patients than to be festive." He gave her a pointed stare, arching a brow.

"Way to ruin it for me."

As soon as they passed through the sickbay doors, she was ambushed. Dr. Jenkins, the bane of her existence, struck fast and true, the hypospray in his hands hitting her neck with less than gentle force. "One down." He shouted, green eyes looking far happier than anyone should while standing in sickbay.

The stinging in her neck faded, but she still clamped a hand against the injury, her eyelids dropping into narrowed slits. "-the hell!?"

"If you'd make it on time, then I wouldn't have to go to such measures." He was far from sympathetic as he shrugged, picking up a second hypospray. "You're almost done with the series, Miss Wright. Best to just get it over with."

Placing a hand on her hip, wave reluctantly waved him on. "Fine."

It was almost ritual at this point. She missed her first appointment, only to show up later in the day and get an unwarranted assault from the doctor. Jenkins was well aware of her history and even though he was curious, he hadn't pried as much as some of the others.

Jefferson was one of those others, but she understood that his curiosity was driven more by professional reason than personal ones. All Jenkins really cared about was making sure she didn't infect anyone with her 'ancient' bacteria.

Richard always joined her for the appointments, even though she was sure that he had other things to do. Being a Commander of Personnel came with a large set of responsibilities. She wondered how long he could shuck them just to make her more comfortable. In all honesty, she was grateful for his presence.

Doctor Jenkins gave her the final hypospray, patting her on the shoulder as he finished. "You only have one appointment left, then you won't have to see me until your physical." That made her think about the long term, which she hadn't done too much of so far. Was she really going to be there this time next year? Another Christmas in Denver?

Richard tapped her side with his elbow. "Let's go get some dinner."

Amelia adjusted the backpack, giving Richard a thumbs up. "Sounds like a plan."

One of the great things about staying on the installation, was that most of the buildings were connected. Temperature controls kept them cozy all year round, even the connecting hallways barely impacted by the cold weather outside. Just wearing a pair of jeans and a tee shirt she was still comfortable.

"Speaking of plans," Richard said, "Do you have any for the holiday?" With Christmas just five days away, she had given it some thought. She knew the dining facility was going to have an extended buffet, traditional foods of turkey and ham being the stars. And the rec room was going to be converted into a dance hall.

"Garren said he was going to have a small party on Christmas Eve. Many of the gardeners are going to be there." She wasn't too certain about attending, having only met them a few times. But the number of friends she had was limited, the only close one walking with her to the dining facility.

The thought made her sad and her expression must have given her away because Richard placed a hand against her elbow. "Hey, I know." He'd been beyond understanding, guiding her through everything in the past month. Doctor's appointments, introducing her to technology. Introducing her to _aliens_. There was very little she'd been through alone. "I was thinking that you could come with me. Meet some of my family. We have enough room and my father has been dying to meet you."

Surprised by the offer, she stopped walking, quickly turning to face Richard. He had talked of his family often, including the sister that he'd lost during the Khan incident. There had been times that she wondered if it was therapeutic for him. She wracked her brain trying to remember his father's rank. "Captain O'Shea?

"The one and only. The USS Huron is scheduled to arrive in orbit tomorrow and the crew will get a brief shore leave for Christmas. Dad's going to meet us at the lake house in Salinas."

"Us? You mean your brothers?" Ryan and Walt O'Shea had been featured in many of her and Richard's conversations. Her earlier statement about their talks being therapeutic seemed to work both ways, because just as often would she talk to him about her father, Henry, and her mother, Julia. Maybe it was another reason why they had grown so close in the past few weeks. Tied together by tragedy, adversity, and new life.

He broke her train of thought with the gentle request, "And you if you'll come with me." An expectant look crossed his features, which soon shifted into an almost pleading one. "You don't fill the place of my sister, but you create a similar place nearby."

Amelia could understand that after having had John, who was strangely a stand in for her father. Glancing down, she saw his hand hanging by his side. With a universal gesture, she grasped it in acceptance. "I'd be happy to go with you."

"Good." He beamed, looking down at their joined hands. His gaze shifted, just slightly, until it landed on her jeans and she already knew he was about to make his usual comments on her attire. "We should also consider getting you something else to wear."

Ritual was a great healing tool. She'd embraced it after learning the truth of her arrival in Denver. Mornings with a couple of the shipyard's gardeners. Noons spent in the green-room. Evenings either spent in her room or with Richard. Mixed within the ritual was slow introduction of technology.

Replicators had been on the first new inventions she'd seen, able to create almost anything out of a jumble of matter. Food, tools, and most importantly, 20th century clothing. She'd worn the uniforms when requested, but nothing made her feel more comfortable than when she was in her room wearing jeans and flannel and reading a real paperback book. All of it given upon a simple voice command.

During her second week, Richard had taken her to see an in-construction _starship_, the USS Exeter. It had been magnificent, even in it's frame stage and he had promised that she'd get to set foot on one in space soon enough.

Then the transporter, a topic recently brought up by the commander. They had explained it well, stating that thousands used one every day without issue. If only she'd had access to some kind of database to see how many times the damn thing had malfunctioned. In just a few minutes of learning about the technology, she'd swore that she'd never use one.

And there was still so much to see.

Richard let go of her hand, snapping her from the memories. With a raised brow, he waved a hand at her pants. "We'll find you something." Which meant that they would _replicate_ something. Amelia felt pleased with herself for picking up the terminology, though life would get a little hard if she didn't try...

They continued their walk towards the dining facility, the details of their trip eventually hashed out over bowls of beef stew and buttered rolls. Ritual, with just the slightest sprinkle of change, was indeed a wondrous method of healing.

* * *

**STARDATE 2259.356**

**Transport Hub**

**Denver, Colorado**

Amelia's fingers plucked at the material of the blue wraparound tunic. It fit weird, scratched at her skin, and overall looked like something she'd see at one of those ridiculous fashion shows. Her mouth turned down in distaste as she tried to ignore how silly she felt.

"It looks fine." Richard said with a huff as he loaded a small duffel bag into their shuttle. He'd wanted to take a site to site transport, but with her voiced aversion, he'd scheduled a less "lethal" form of transportation. "Stop worrying about it. Several people here are wearing the exact same thing. It looks _fine." _Not only were several people wearing the wraparound, but Richard had on something similar, the casual beige complimenting his skin and eyes.

"It doesn't _feel_ fine." She hissed, tossing her backpack in the transport to land besides Richard's. He seemed to know just how to calm her, his hand landing on her shoulder.

"Amelia. It's fine. You look great. Now get in the shuttle." Already she was feeling better, her eyes finding all the strangers with similar clothes. It was pretty common, though it was like everyone wore either pajamas or uniforms. On some she couldn't tell the difference.

They piled into the shuttle, two sets of four seats set across from one another. She shot a sideways glance at Richard that asked, _where is everyone else? _

"I'm Commander of Personnel. I think I can get my own car. Also, we're going to have an exam." She watched him maneuver around the shuttle, closing the hatch and setting their destination. The 'exam' he mentioned made her groan and she knew that she was about to regurgitate the same information over and over.

Richard was grinning when he took a seat across from her, pulling the straps across his shoulders. Unfamiliar with the shuttle, she watched him first before trying her own belts. Victory was short lived because as soon as a solid click resounded from her harness, Richard started. "So, Amelia... where were you born?"

"Phoenix." Question one... easy.

"Oh yeah? Me too! Did you go to school there?" They had tried to keep all of her history as close to the truth as possible. She was glad for that, having a firm moral code of honesty. But in the end she would have to lie, and she would have to do it well.

"No. I went to school in Flagstaff."

The mock conversation continued, Richard posing the next question. "I see. So, what is your profession?"

"I'm a horticulturist subcontracted by Starfleet." That part was true, an ID in her bag proof of her 'employment'.

He gave an approving nod. "You must have went to a very prestigious school. Where did you get your degree?"

Arizona State? She tried to picture her file, but the altered dates and places were like blurs in the mental image. Across from her, Richard's foot tapped against the floor in impatience. _It had science in the name, remember... since horticulture is a science and all. _The delay in her answer came to an end when she guessed, "Phoenix Academy of Science?"

"Close enough. Arizona Academy of Science in Phoenix." They continued the quiz for the rest of the thirty minute ride, Richard correcting her when needed and congratulating her on the harder facts. She'd spent a decent amount of time studying over her file, trying to memorize what had changed and what had remained the same. A false Starfleet background check was even attached, another set of pages to learn. And if she scrolled to the very bottom there was a section that simply said 'REDACTED Level A9D Required'. Richard had told her that only ten people had access to that, which gave a full report on her arrival.

The exam ended with an easy question, just as it had started, and then Richard unbuckled himself. It was her cue to do the same and just as the straps came off, she felt the shuttle come to a stop. Nervousness settled in her gut, not because she'd answered questions wrong, but because she was about to meet Richard's family.

She'd heard so much about them already, including their successes which made her feel a little intimidated. Through their conversations, she'd learned that Richard was very proud of his father, a captain in Starfleet and decorated hero. Captain O'Shea of the USS Huron.

Once the shuttle doors opened, she was grateful for the wraparound tunic, that scratchy material proving warm against the cold air, made colder by the sea nearby. Following Richard out of the transport, backpack hanging off one shoulder, she could hear the joyful family reunion begin to ensue.

A man with brown hair and brown eyes, identical to Richard's, was hugging him. He was just a little taller and a hair older and she knew it was Walt, his older brother. A younger man with blue eyes and blond hair stood off to the side, watching the two with an envious expression. "Come on! Why do you always get a hug first?"

"Because I'm old! Age before beauty remember?" Walt looked over his brother's shoulder, spotting her outside the transport. "Though there should always be an exception made." He said as he stared at her. It hadn't even been two minutes and already someone was flirting with her.

Heat filled her cheeks.

The two parted, Richard and Ryan giving each other a quick hug next. It was brief, but she was pretty sure that was for her benefit, their attention shifting her way. Walt made it to her first, his brown eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. "You must be Amelia." He reminded her of Richard, not only because of his looks, but because he had that diplomatic air around him.

Instantly she knew that she'd like him. The O'Shea's just had an inviting appeal about them, friendly and open, always using the right words. Her smile grew when Walk took her free hand in his own, giving it an old fashioned kiss on the back. "Aren't you a charmer?" She said with a wink.

That nervous feeling was forgotten as they brought her towards the house. When he had said it was a beach house, he had meant it. The waves almost touched the house's piers and if it had been a little windier the waves would have made it. It looked like something out of a picture, the white home standing still against the constantly moving ocean.

She couldn't recall seeing anything quite like it. "You gonna come inside?" Ryan's voice sounded behind her, his eyes seemingly focused on her hair. She'd caught Richard doing that same thing once or twice before, his gaze becoming misty, his words sometimes broken.

And looking at Ryan, she realized there was a good reason for it. If Walt and Richard took after their father in looks. Then that meant Ryan and Natalie took after their mother. Amelia wondered if when Ryan looked at her... he was seeing his sister.

* * *

**STARDATE 2259.358**

**O'Shea Beach House**

**Salinas, California**

The wind had picked up, the waves finally making their mark against the concrete pillars that supported the house. She couldn't see them from where she stood on the balcony, but she could hear the impact, the slapping of water as it struck something solid.

The sound kept rhythm, two seconds-four seconds-two, and she let it lull her into a daydreaming state. She didn't like it in the future, but she didn't hate it either. She missed her home and the simplicity of it, something that she would never get back.

It made her heart hurt thinking about it... and then her brain would remind her that she'd put herself in an early grave if she kept this up forever. Richard had told her she'd learn to love it. All the opportunities she would have would keep her from thinking about the past too long.

But in these moments, just like when she was gardening, she could almost pretend that it was still 1992 and eventually she'd be getting in her little red ford and riding home to her greenhouse.

The dream came to an end as footsteps signaled someone's approach. They were heavy and paced as always and when she turned around she knew who would be there. "I thought we'd talked about the jeans?" Richard's accusation was laced with a small laugh. "I guess we can't change that, can we?"

She gave him a once over, noting that he was wearing another beige tunic. "Well.. you look silly." Another laugh as he walked towards the balcony to stand beside her, his hands coming to rest on the railing.

"I've been wanting to talk to you." His words were hesitant, just shy of reluctant. "I know you're settling in at the shipyard, but... I have news."

"Is it bad news, because it's Christmas Eve and it's just not a good day for bad news."

"It isn't bad, not exactly." She kept silent, looking out on the waves. Just a few minutes ago they had kept her tranquil. Now they just made her antsy. Richard might have sensed her building anxiety, but he pushed forward anyway. "Salo has requested that you be taken off the installation." How was that not bad news?

Shock filled her. "Why?" _You know why. He hates you, remember? He thinks you are working for Khan. _At the reminder, shock was slowly replaced with anger. It was infuriating that someone would go to such lengths to make her life worse, when she barely had a life to begin with.

"He brings a solid case against you. Citing that even though you were reluctantly brought here, you have no clearance to be on a shipyard. There's more but I was only able to get part of his recommendation." Richard's lack of optimism had her turning to face him, her hip resting against the railing. He didn't look her way, his eyes on the waves. Maybe _he_ was looking for them to keep him calm.

"Lots of civilians work on the shipyard. All the gardeners are civilians." He nodded at her argument.

"Yeah, well... his case is going through. If you get removed from the installation, then it'll be unlikely that Starfleet will give you further assistance." Finally, he faced her, regret lacing his features as he placed a hand on his shoulder. "I made a promise to you Amelia. And I'm going to keep it."

"I can make it on my own." Even as she said it, she wasn't sure if she believed it. Life in the future was hard in a much different way than in the past. She couldn't even operate a transport shuttle when nine year olds of 2259 do it daily. She gave a frustrated sigh.

"If you're located somewhere else or on a different Shipyard, then the process will have to start all over. I think I can buy us some time." Now she was hearing some of his usual optimism.

She processed what he was saying, her head tilting in confusion. "You want me to leave Denver?"

He sighed, the sound heavy and pending. Then his eyes met hers and she knew that it was another life altering change. Just like when he'd told her that it was 2259. "I want you to leave the planet. It'll give me time to build a case against Salo's."

"You want me to leave the planet?" The words came slowly, her head starting to shake. Of all the things he could have suggested. Another shipyard would have been one thing, but, "The planet, Ricard?! That's your solution?"

"Amelia-"

"I'm a gardener! Where the hell am I going to garden off the planet? The only other planet I even know of is Vulcan and that doesn't seem like the best place for tulips." For a split second she pictured herself on the desert planet that she'd read about. She probably wouldn't be able to get a cactus to grow on such an environment.

"Wait, listen to me." That hand on her shoulder gave a slight squeeze and she glared at him over her shoulder. "Every Heavy Cruiser is equipped with a hydroponics bay. My father's freighter, the USS Huron even has one."

"You want to put me on a starship?" That was almost worse than another planet. At least then there would be ground under her feet. She hadn't even _been_ into space and he wanted her to stay there on her first trip?

"Yes. You'll be safe there, Amelia." He'd used that word often with her, and after just meeting his brother she wondered if he was projecting the loss of his sister onto her. He was trying to save her where he had lost his sister. It shouldn't have been a secret, not with a few stray comments here and there that would have had anyone thinking that.

But seeing a picture of Natalie was almost like looking in the mirror.

Safe. "You mean a starship like the one that's being _rebuilt_ in space? Safe? No... I'll be secluded." The mere thought of being trapped in space almost made her hyperventilate. But she forced herself to stay calm, counting as she took deep breaths.

"They aren't mutually exclusive. Seclusion would be safety for you." He seemed convinced that this was her best option and almost every other time she'd have trusted him. Just like when he took her to see the doctor and when he'd introduced her to one alien after another.

But this time, she didn't want to. "I like open air. I like dirt. I won't make it a week on a starship."

"Yes you will. Because your strong and you do what needs to be done. I've seen it over and over again. You've forced yourself to adapt to this life and you'll force yourself to live on a starship. It's our best option."

"Best option for what? To keep me within the Starfleet circle?"

"Yes. I've done everything I can to keep you on the installation because you're safe there. I said it before, if anyone finds out that you're from 1992 then you're put at risk. That's why we've worked so hard to limit your contact with civilians. If Salo's case succeeds then that risk increases. The wrong person learning can cost you your life. I won't let that happen."

She felt like she did a month ago, accepting something so outrageous simply because he was asking her to. "When do you want me to go?"

"In four days." That soon? It meant that she wouldn't be going back to Denver at all. She'd be going straight to whatever ship he planned on sticking her on.

"Richard..."

"I'm sorry." He touched her arm, then moved faster than she had time to react. His arms circled around her, pulling her tight into his embrace. It wasn't too hard, but it was a firm hug, one that asked for compliance. "I'm so sorry. I know you've worked hard this past month, but everything... everything has led up to this. You know how to work in a temp controlled garden. You know how to use a tricorder and a replicator. You've met every alien race that could be on the ship."

Amelia pulled away, feeling a little betrayed. With just that tiny movement back, Richard let her go, his face showing guilt. "You've prepared for this? You knew I would be leaving?"

"I had an idea." He didn't expand on it, stopping abruptly as a second set of footsteps could be heard. They both looked to the double doors that led onto the balcony. Within a few moments, Richard's father stepped into view.

There was a knowing expression on his face as he watched them, glancing back and forth between his son and Amelia. "I see that Richard has told you about the move."

An indignant snort escaped her as she cast them both annoyed glares. "Am I always the last one to know what's going on?"

"He hasn't told me everything, keeps saying it's classified. But I think my son forgets that I've built up far more contacts that the average Captain." Mr. O'Shea approached the railing, his gait slow like he was sneaking up on a rabbit. "He's right, you know. You will be safe on a starship. With all that's going on, this talk about augments is spreading like wild fire. They get wind of you and you'll be a target."

"So I've been told. Am I going to be on the Huron with you?"

"Unfortunately, no. I've already got three techs in my hydroponics bay. I'll be taking you up to the orbiting shipyard though. On a shuttle, since Richard says you won't use the transporter." The last part was said in mild annoyance. It seemed everyone but her trusted the damn thing.

"So what's going to be my new home?"

"The USS Enterprise. She'll launch in just over a week for their five year voyage." Five years...

"Five years? Oh, hell no. Richard, that's like a prison sentence!" He expected her to be gone for five years?

Mr. O'Shea jumped in before Richard, "It'll go by quick. And by the time you get back, everything should be taken care of. Your identity will be secured. The experience you gain will help you stay contracted Starfleet. If you want you'll even get a chance to test in as enlisted." As Mr. O'Shea spoke, Richard nodded in agreement.

"Five years?" She said again with a whisper, but they didn't seem to bothered by the length of time.

Then Mr. O'Shea went on to describe how the hydroponics bay worked on the Huron, making it sound just like where she'd planted her tulips just a few days prior. Except she'd be focusing on food, both to supplement the replicator and work as an emergency stockpile of food should the replicators fail. Overall, what she had learned so far would be put to use.

Richard had done well guiding her, preparing her for what was to come.

When the conversation was over, she realized that she had accepted this fact. Just like when they had told her she'd traveled through time. Mr. O'Shea gave a proud smile, crossing his arms and looking at her with admiration. In a surprised tone he said, "You were right about her, son. She's a strong one."

They gathered around the fireplace and it reminded her of a scene out of a movie. Richard laughed as Ryan told a joke. Mr. O'Shea smiled as he poured a small glass of whiskey. And Walt grinned as he placed another log on the fire. The warmth of the room seeped through her skin, making her feel better than she had in a long time.

It felt like home. Richard _made _it feel like home.

They didn't talk about the fact that she'd be leaving so soon, instead sticking to topics like the weather and prior holidays. But even though they hadn't brought it back up, her mind still focused on it. She wouldn't have a view outside. She wouldn't have home-made cocoa.

She'd have the hydroponics bay and sometimes she'd have a video log sent from Richard. What little family she had gained, she was soon to lose only to be trapped aboard the starship Enterprise. Five years was a long time. Long enough, maybe, to make new friends and form a new family.

She cupped both her hands around her mug, staring down at the steaming liquid that sat inside. This new world came in waves, just like the ones outside that lapped at the pillars.

"Hey." Richard's soft voice drew her gaze upwards. He was holding something in his hand, it's colors red and green and resembling of the occasion. A similar package was tucked under his arms. "I have something for you."

"I thought exchanges happened on Christmas?" The corner of her mouth tilted up. Placing the mug on the table she took the box as he handed it over. It wasn't adorned with ribbons, just simple paper, but she stared at it, tears forming in her eyes. Life in 2259 had it's moments, accompanied with cocoa and dirt and things that hadn't changed much since 1992. "I have something too, but it's in my bag."

"You can give it to me tomorrow." He said as he took a seat beside her on the couch. "I just knew that you'd be over-thinking everything and... I wanted to make it a little better." Her fingers toyed with the corner as he spoke, sinking in to the break in the paper. "Go ahead."

That was all she needed, her hand tearing down the side and shoving the paper to the floor. It was a thoughtful gift, her chest tightening as she gazed at the item in her lap.

It was a framed picture of them, taken during her third week by Garren. She was wearing one of the white uniforms, dirty fingerprints and smears across the pants. She was holding a potted orchid, the blooming flower an unusual dark purple. She'd been using a color enhancing fertilizer and on that day it'd finally had its desired effect. Richard was pointing at the plant, making an exaggerated face that said congratulations.

"I love it." The whisper barely reached her owns ears, the words scratchy with emotion. "I'll keep it in my quarters. On the Enterprise."

"That's the idea." He pulled the other box from under his arm, but she held her hand up, stopping him short.

"Wait. Let me get mine." With a sigh and a grin, he waved her off. She made the trip quickly, running to the guest room and searching through her backpack. It wasn't in fancy paper, just wrapped in some of the black plastic that was kept for plant beds. When she made it back to the living room, he was still on the couch, staring down at the picture he'd just given her. "Can't take it back now."

"I have one just like it in my office." He admitted, glancing back up to see the package in her hand. "You didn't have to." He said, taking it as she held it out.

"I know. But it's tradition. Even after all this time." Just like her, once he found the side, he ripped open the plastic. And just like her, his eyes filled with mist. He held it carefully, working to keep his prints from the glass.

Pressed between two panes, straightened and pristine, was a five dollar bill. She'd learned it's worth was more than it's monetary counterpart in her time. Turning in one of her twenties had scored her a few hundred credits.

A collector's item, they had called it. Just five weeks ago, she'd known it as cash. "Something to remember me by."

"I don't think I need currency for that." Together they looked into the fire. "I'll send you video calls as often as I can.; Over a secured line in case you need to talk."

"I'm sure I'll need it." They both traced their individual gifts, seemingly lost in the present...


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **I was super excited when it came time to write this chapter. And I hope the wait for the Enterprise crew hasn't been too long. :) Feel free to leave some constructive criticism or just any encouragement in a review.

* * *

**STARDATE 2259.363**

**San Fransisco Fleet Yard**

**Earth's Orbit**

She wore the white uniform again, her hair in a tight bun at the _command _of Captain O'Shea. Against her back, heavy and bulky, rested her backpack which contained every item she owned. At her side was Captain O'Shea, in full uniform and looking just as handsome and pristine as his son always had. It was almost like walking with Richard, except at a slightly slower pace.

Captain O'Shea had been the one to make all the arrangements on her transport to the Enterprise, accompanying her under the guise of wanting to have Kirk give him a short tour of the ship. The Huron waited for him on the other side of the fleet yard.

Amelia was antsy, which was a step up from the depressing despair she had been feeling the few days before. She didn't get to say goodbye to Garren, or Harry Keller, or even the Chef who had served her at Denver's dining facility. And her farewell with Richard had been teary... a little on both sides.

A sudden touch at her elbow startled her, that antsy feeling making her more jittery than normal. "Miss Wright." The Captain was formal for this trip, being careful not to draw additional attention their way. Some would ask questions if their relationship was too obvious. _We want to keep this transfer as quiet as possible, _Richard had told her, explaining that her location would be unknown for a short time while they worked against Salo's case.

Remembering the prodding touch, Amelia realized that their shuttle had connected to the _much_ larger ship. The USS Enterprise. She'd spent hours using her data padd, the other gift from Richard, trying to learn everything she could about it. A constitution class ship, designed for exploration and long term missions. Unfortunately, during her search she'd come across several details that were classified.

Except the hydroponics bay. The data padd had pulled up schematics, detailing almost 600 square meters of space. It was larger than most home gardens and with the rotation schedule of food, she was certain that she'd be able to keep up a daily supply of fresh vegetables.

With a rudimentary idea of the ship's layout, she was able to follow the Captain with ease, pointing out significant areas. Her new home. It had plain hallways, but they were inviting with the corridor lights, not too bright and just the right dimness. They made it to an elevator like door, the 'turbolift' as the plans had shown. "Deck 4" The Captain's command spurred the lift into movement, blinking lights joining the ride. "I've arranged a room on deck 4, hallway E. Don't forget, 4E211."

"Thank you. For everything."

"It was no problem." He said as the turbolift came to a stop. They continued on down another plain hallway, each door resembling the ones at the barracks in Denver, sliding doors instead of swinging ones. "Richard insisted that I take good care of you. That boy has a protective instinct a mile wide."

"I've noticed."

The Captain came to a slow stop and she looked above her door, 211 stamped above it. "Don't fault him for it. After Natalie he went through a lot. We all did. I'm glad he's found someone to talk to about it." He went to a control panel just to the left of the door, entering a series of numbers. "Before I leave, you will need to code the door. If you want you can use a voice activated command, but it's generally easier to just do a series of numbers."

He waved her on just as the door opened and she took the first step in. It wasn't spacious, but it was enough. Instead of a kitchen like she'd had at the barracks, she had a food replicator embedded within the wall. And instead of regular twin bed, she had one that was latched against the wall. _Small, but... I can see myself here. _On the opposite side of the room sat a small desk and a locker. She dropped her backpack by it, reminding herself to set her picture on that desk.

"It's no apartment, but it's climate controlled and inside." He gave a small chuckle and placed a hand on her shoulder. "I'd take you to the hydroponics bay, but I've got to go and meet Kirk on the bridge for that promised tour."

"Thank you for everything, Mr. O'Shea." The older man gave her a sideways glance, the corner of his mouth shifting upwards. Then he hugged her, a quick embrace that was so close to the one Richard had given her just hours before.

"You'll be alright, Amelia. Always look forward. Don't take any crap from anyone. And call Richard once in a while. I don't want to get a request to take the Huron your way when he hasn't heard from you." A few final words of advice was all she got before he gave her a mock salute and headed out the door. It slid closed and she suddenly felt how alone she really was.

With sluggish movements she made her way towards the desk, grabbing her backpack along the short walk. "This is it... I'm on board a starship with aliens and replicators and transporters." And no one she came even close to calling a friend. _Not yet, anyway. _

She unzipped the backpack, pulling out several items to place on the desk. Her data padd, still powered down. Her framed photo. She tucked it at the corner of the desk, moving it around until it no longer had reflected light hitting it. And her driver's license.

Richard had wanted her to leave it with him, to be secured someplace safe. But she had reminded him that the Enterprise was to be her haven and it would go with her. It sat face up in the other corner, a reminder of a life she would never truly leave behind.

Still in that slow state brought on by reluctance, she powered on the data padd. Richard had passed on a message from Jefferson, the man in the blue uniform that had done that amazing diagram of the hovering ball. He'd asked for her to take time to record stories about her life, a project that might take the entire length of the Enterprise's journey.

Turning on the volume, she started to listen to her first recording and she smiled at the recanted memory. _"I remember when we replaced the rotary phone for a button one. I must have been about twelve... we were always late when it came to new technology. Even as an adult I rarely even saw a computer..." _Since she wouldn't be talking to Richard as often, this would probably be her new form of therapy.

Talking to herself about herself.

Scrolling through the menu on the data padd, she pulled up the downloaded map of the Enterprise. She wouldn't carry the padd outside of the room, not wanting to take the risk of someone getting a hold of it, but she did want to burn the map into her short term memory. There was no desire to begin working in the hydroponics bay today, but she at least wanted to go see where she'd be working. With a general idea on directions, she powered off the pad and shoved it into her backpack.

The locker against the wall had a panel on its surface and she stared at it, deciding that she'd figure that combination out later. Just like her life.

With a deep inhale, preparing herself for the next step, she started for the door. All that she had learned about life had been enforced every day in the past month. _Head high. Carry on. Take punches when warranted and dish them out if needed._ It seemed lately, though, that she was getting more hits than she had been giving...

But Amelia kept her head up as she changed the code on her door, and she didn't look to the ground as she made her way towards the turbolift. The large door slid open and she stepped in, turned around and waited.

"It doesn't go anywhere unless you say something." A sudden voice at her back had her jumping around to see a smiling female. Her skin was dark, her long brown hair pulled into a high pony-tail. For a second, Amelia just stared at her. The woman was still smiling when she said, "Didn't mean to startle you. Where are you heading?"

_Where? _As if suddenly remembering where she was going, she said, a little too loud, "Cargo bay six." The turbolift began to move, those blinking lights rotating in synch.

"Ah, the hydroponics bay. Are you the new gardener?" Was everyone aware that there was someone new or did the woman just have a good sense of deduction.

"Horticulturist," She corrected gently. "And yes." As an afterthought, she stuck her hand out. "Amelia Wright."

That smile turned knowing, the woman grasping her hand and giving it a small shake. The turbolift came to a stop and they broke apart, the woman giving her a beaming grin, "Well, Good luck and welcome aboard the Enterprise." _Good luck? Do I need luck?_Amelia thought as she stepped out of the lift and into the cargo bay.

Pushing the odd encounter aside, she looked around, a smile forming on her face. It was massive, at least four times the size of her greenhouse and much bigger than the floor-plans had indicated. Since the Enterprise had been under repair for the past eight months, there were no growing plants, but all the raw materials were there.

Amelia paced around the large expanse of a room, mentally laying out where each set of vegetables would go. The garden beds were latched down, the space where the soil would be had metal covers over it. _In case artificial gravity fails, then there won't be dirt everywhere. _There were large containers packed against the corner of the rooms, each one having a stamped description of the contents. Seeds, fertilizer, water pump systems, soil. It would take her most of the day to do an inventory, a task that she planned on leaving for the following day.

If anything was missing then she would have time to see the quartermaster... and possibly get the supplies before the Enterprise departed in three days. Unlike most, she didn't look negatively on the extensive work load before her. She embraced it. Work was her release, the best method for relieving the stress that was bound to build.

It's what made the past month bearable. And it is what would make the next five years enjoyable.

**STARDATE 2259.364**

**San Fransisco Fleet Yard**

**Earth's Orbit**

The following day she found herself with sweat dripped from her brow, landing on the data padd in her hands. It's configuration was frustrating, so different from her own padd that sat in her room. With a low growl she shoved at the open box in front of her. "Why the hell are these labeled corn? They're not corn seeds!" The fact that things like this were still screwed up in the future would have been funny if the entire box hadn't been mislabeled.

What she wouldn't have given for a sharpie... "Squash. Cucumber. Watermelon. Tomatoes. Lettuce. Peas. Where is the corn?" She rummaged through to the bottom of the container, finally spotting that familiar yellow. A victorious cry escaped her as she jerked out the bag. "Radish." She said, reading the label. _Someone back on Earth has a sick sense of humor. _

Closing the container, she moved on the next. "Vulcan." Now things were getting tricky. It wasn't likely that the Earth vegetables would grow in the same environment that the Vulcan vegetables needed to grow. Which meant that she had to set up a separation barrier somewhere in the bay.

She made notes on the data padd in preparation to see the quartermaster. There wasn't much missing in the bay, the water systems having all their parts and the bedding being complete. But building a separation barrier would require more tools and construction parts than she had available.

Amelia recounted her containers, making a few more notes, and then she headed towards the turbolift. "If a quartermaster handles supplies... then they would probably be in the-" The turbolift doors opened and she stepped inside. "Supply room?" She gave a small sigh of relief when it started moving.

Using the turbolift was an experience. Sometimes she forgot to even tell the thing where she was going. Just like when she'd met that woman the day before. Then, sometimes, she'd give it an nonexistent room or location and that computerized voice would act all condescending, telling her that she was mentally unfit to use the technology. Or something like that. She figured it would be another week at least before she stopped making the same mistakes.

The turbolift came to a stop, the doors sliding open. With the hydroponics bay data padd in hand, she stepped forward, her eyes darting to scan the area for signs of life. It didn't take long, an angered voice coming from the other side of the room, separated by shelving units.

"Listen here, yeoman. I have a hundred plus members of this crew to vaccinate before we move this ship. Get me some damn hyposprays!" A man in a white coat came quickly around the shelf, forcing her to side-step or be run over. Then just as quickly as he had passed by, muttered curses following him, he was gone. Amelia watched the turbolift doors slide shut.

She briefly considered coming back another time, the poor yeoman manning the supply room already having a heavy plate. But the hydroponics bay wouldn't build itself and her time was limited.

Maneuvering around the shelves, she ended up in front of a narrow desk, a haggard looking young man sitting in a chair on the other side. Unable to help it, she asked, "You alright?" His eyes were wide when he looked up, and for some reason she was instantly reminded of someone with shell shock.

"It's always like this just before launch." The murmured complaint barely reached her ears and all she could do was shrug. It made sense that supply was getting hammered now. At least that meant people were doing their jobs and working on getting what they were missing.

It would be unfortunate to get three months out and find out they didn't have the necessities. "Well, I'm hoping to only have one list of necessary supplies."

"Let's see what you need." He was starting to look a little better, his eyes seeming normal now and more focused. He waved a hand towards her data padd and she handed it over, the screen already displaying the list. "Looks like you're building something. What do they have you doing down there?"

"I'm setting up an area for Vulcan plants." He gave her a skeptic glance, his right brow lifted.

"We only have two Vulcans on board. Not sure it's worth the effort." She hadn't considered that, wondering now why they had bothered with so many seeds. Maybe humans were known to eat Vulcan food too?

In any case, she gave another shrug. "Well I can always use it for other plants. It'll be handy to have a secondary environment."

"Most of this stuff can be found in cargo bay 3. They put aside spare paneling and a crew is working down there so tools shouldn't be an issue. If you need an engineer you'll have to talk to Chief Scott. He's not in the best of moods, though, so be warned. I'll put in the request for the rest." A grateful smile crossed her face as she mentally logged his suggestion.

She thought back to the angry man who'd just left the supply room. "Sounds like everyone else on board."

"You're not starfleet." The observing glance across her uniform rested on her left breast where everyone else wore that silver emblem. "Don't worry. You'll get used to people being irritable and short tempered. Especially at times like this." He held out the data padd and she took it with another small smile.

"Seems like you've adapted." Her words inspired a little laugh and she couldn't help but chuckle with him.

With a quick motion, he stuck out his hand. "If you need anything else, don't hesitate to come by. I'm Yeoman Anthony Fuller."

Clasping his outstretched one in her own, she gave it a quick shake. "Amelia Wright." And a brief swell formed in her heart as she realized she had just made her first friend about the USS Enterprise.

After getting directions to cargo bay 3, a short walk from supply without the use of the turbolift, she parted ways with the young yoeman. The path to cargo bay 3 should have been simple, but she still managed to get lost, stopping to ask a stray ensign for directions. He must have been new too because he just stared at her when she'd asked.

Turning a five minute walking into a fifteen minute one, she finally made it to the cargo bay, the doors opening to reveal a bustle of activity. Sparks flew right near the entrance, someone in a red uniform leaning over several exposed wires and cursing. Many other men and women were carrying flat metal panels across the room, shouting directing their movements.

"No, no, no. Put it by tha' shuttle!" One male's voice rang louder than the rest, and Amelia instantly garnered that this was the man in charged. The voice, tainted with a strong Scottish accent, continued to echo in the bay. "No! Bloody idiots. The panel. Goes by. The shuttle." Turning her head, she watched two obviously confused Starfleet personnel pointing towards a small shuttle craft. "Yes. Thank you."

Just as she had when she'd entered the supply room, she considered turning on her heel and leaving. This time, consideration turned into action. They were all busy, doing what was probably far more important things than working in a hydroponics bay. And most of the stuff would still be there after they left the fleet yard.

"Can I help ya, lass?" It could have been meant for anyone, but Amelia still stopped and looked over her shoulder. A red haired man was walking her way, his brows up in question. His accent quickly gave him away as the man in charge, but at least he wasn't yelling at her. In contrast, it almost seemed like he was flirty, a slow smile spreading across his face.

Shifting to face him, she asked, "Are you Chief Scott?"

"The one an' only. What can I do ya for?" Definitely flirting. His wide smile remained, his eyes dropping to a curious stare.

"I'm trying to get some panels to build a secondary environment in the hydroponics bay." Curiosity changed to interest. There was a pregnant pause as he opened his mouth to reply, his gaze swinging to look around the cargo bay.

"That so, eh? I can give you a few, but I can't spare anyone to help with the build. I'll have them transported by the end of th' day." An anxious look took over, his eyes narrowing sharply. "'ey! Stop it! You're gonna blow the-"

A large cluster of sparks flew past her head, the smell of burn flesh following. Someone behind her yelped. She kept her back to them, not particularly inclined to set eyes on the damage. "I see you're currently occupied. Don't rush it."

Chief Scott snorted. "I rush these lads and someone's gonna end up in sickbay."

"Wouldn't want that. I hear they're short on hyposprays." More panels passed by her side, carried by clumsy crewman. "I'm going to get out of your way. Thanks for the help, Chief."

She would have shook his hand, just like with everyone else, but he was already on his way towards the wounded crew member at her back. "Anytime, lass." He hadn't been kidding when he'd mentioned sickbay, the Chief already communicating with a Doctor through his hand-held.

Shouting on the other end of the bay ensued, followed by another yelp of pain. Life aboard the Enterprise was certainly going to be interesting.

**STARDATE 2260.004**

**Beta Quadrant**

The New Year came and went with celebration all across the ship. Amelia witnessed firsthand an increased boost in morale. Tensions lowered, tempers were... tempered, and the crew interacted with a particular skill and grace.

A skill and grace that she didn't always share. Her panels arrived the day the chief had promised, but getting an engineer's help had been next to impossible. They sat in an isolated corner of the hydroponics bay, the surrounding area designated for the altered environment. She was only given partial power, all non-critical systems taking a hit as routine testing was done across the Enterprise.

As almost everyone else on the ship was able to finish the day's work and make their way to the chow-hall, she was still sitting in the bay, manually testing the water systems one by one. "Because, God-forbid I get full power to do a systematic check!" What made it worse was that she had to pull up the test procedures on the assigned data padd every single time.

An announcement had come out earlier that day, that full power would be granted within twelve hours. It was six hours past that deadline and the hydroponics bay was still barely lit. "You managed without all the fancy gizmos for years, Amelia." She stopped mid-test, setting the data padd on one of the nearby containers.

"Screw it." It wasn't the best way of motivating herself, but it had its charms. She stalked to the container marked soils and unlatched the top. _Sometimes... you just need to dig in. _Selectively, she picked up a bag of black dirt. It was enriched, prime for tomatoes. And it would be the first of many she tore open.

She snapped open the soil barricades on a nearby empty bed that had wire cages attached to the top. _At least that's already done_, she thought as she poured out the bag, the black dirt rolling out and filling the space. It was a thing of beauty watching a bed being built, but it was even better when she was the builder.

An hour -maybe two- later she stared down at the completed tomato bed, an unnecessary stick labeling it as such sticking up from a tiny hole in the metal cover. Since it was a seed and not a transplant it would be a few months before the vines made any headway on the cages. But in four or five she would have prime red tomatoes. Three other identical beds sat in rows behind it, and one day their rotation would come.

In less than a year she'd have every plant grown to maturity and have others already on their way. If she got the water systems finished that is.

She went for the cucumbers next, another hard hour of labor. Then the squash. With tired eyes, sore hands, and a stained white uniform, she finally looked across the bay at what the day's labor had wrought.

And the lights brightened to full.

By design, there was a sonic shower in the hydroponics bay, and even though she usually preferred the real thing with water, she used it anyway. Since the power was restored, the small replicator in the bathroom was able to replace her uniform with a clean one, the old now a jumble of matter stored elsewhere.

Clean, refreshed, and finally satisfied with her work, she decided that the water systems could wait. All she wanted now was a hot meal. Amelia considered going to her room and just having something replicated, but she knew that she had a limited amount of replicator rations and using it for clothes was draining what little was left.

Still tired, her gait was slow as she made her way to the turbolift. "Deck 3." At the command, it started to move and Amelia felt a small swell of pride at learning that the dining facility was on deck 3. This would become a constant trip once the food was ready for harvest, and she needed to make more of an effort to memorize the ship's layout.

After leaving the lift, she worked her way through the corridors, polite starfleet officers and enlisted personnel passing by with smiles. The New Year cheer seemed to be clinging on and she found herself smiling back.

A growl came from her center and she placed a hand against her middle. "Working on it." She muttered to her stomach, the sound growing as the smell of food filled the next corridor. Following it to the chow hall, she passed through double sliding doors.

She'd been there before, before launch, but there were far more people sitting around now. While docked there had been outside options for food and it seemed that most had chosen to eat off the Enterprise.

_You would too if you knew you'd be limited to one 'restaurant' for the next five years. _Round and square tables were scattered across the dining hall, conversations kept soft and low as to not intrude on other patrons. Glancing around, she didn't recognize any of the faces.

_You only know three people on the ship. _The always busy chief, the constantly rattled yeoman, and the unidentified woman in the turbolift from her first day. The latter probably shouldn't even be considered someone she knew, since she'd had longer conversations with the tomatoes.

Grabbing a tray from the end of the serving line, she made her way forwards. "I was wondering when you would stop by." A different Chef from the one she had seen a few days earlier was standing on the other side of the food bar. It was easy to notice too, his blue skin and stark white hair standing out. "You are Amelia Wright. The resident _horticulturist._" The antenna on his head twitched, parting in quick motions.

It almost seemed like he was laughing about something, just without the sound.

She wasn't sure whether to be offended by the inside joke or impressed by his quick identification of her. "Yes. How'd you know?"

The Chef placed a small black container on her tray, averting his gaze across the dining hall. "I make it my business to know these things. We're going to be seeing a lot of one another." He turned his green eyes back to her.

"No, really?" Another small black container was placed on her tray and she moved forward in the line, Chef just a few steps ahead. She pushed on, "I mean, I've barely left the bay much less had time to become... recognizable."

"You wear a white uniform, are female, and do not have a starfleet insignia. The only other person you could have been is Suz'ani U'vall, but you are not green." That didn't answer her question, but the look on Chef's face told her it hadn't been designed to. He was playing coy, a shadow of a smile on his face. Coy was something she could handle.

If she wanted a specific answer, she had to ask a specific question. "And who told you that I would be wearing a white uniform?"

"Lieutenant Uhura. She also makes it her business to know these things." She recalled his opening greeting and his use of the word horticulturist. Amelia had finally identified the woman in the turbolift.

Shaking her hand up and down, indirectly pointing at his person, she asked, "Are all Andorians this-"

"Suspicious? Yes."

"Astute." She corrected with mock indignation. "I was going to say astute."

"Yes to both. Superior to the Terran in every way." The antenna twitched again and this time she was sure that was an indication of laughter. Instead of taking offense, she took it as an ice breaker. Making fun in a friendly way. There wasn't a smile on her face, but her eyes crinkled at the corners.

"I wouldn't say suspicion is a positive trait."

"Well..." His eyebrows wagged up and down in a human-like gesture. "It's kept us alive so far, hasn't it?"

A throat cleared behind her and she shot a glance over her shoulder at the upheld line. Before she could say goodbye, the Chef said, "Come and see me after you finish. I will show you around the Kitchen." It had been one of the unchecked things on her to do list. Then he waved her off as he turned to hand the next person their food.

After finding a seat at an empty table, Amelia set to opening the black boxes. A creamy soup, a small house salad, and decently seasoned chicken breast. It was filling and tasted a little more authentic than what she'd been replicating. Much better than the protein bars Richard had jokingly told her she'd be eating for five years.

At the sudden thought of her Earth-side friend, she made a mental note to send him a message. The crew had been warned that there would be times where communications were disrupted and she felt it best to make sure she sent out at least one before that potential disaster occurred.

As she ate, she thought about what she'd say. She'd tell him about the hydroponics bay and her frustrating evening. She'd tell him about the chief and Anthony in the supply room. And she'd tell him that she was getting the feeling that this little adventure wouldn't be so bad after all.

The tray and empty dishes went into a replicator recycler and as Chef had asked, she went back to the people-less chow line. The Andorian's antenna turned first, his head soon swerving with it. She briefly wondered if she'd ever get used to non-humans, but then she remembered how easily talking to Garren had become.

At least they stood on two legs.

"Did you enjoy your meal?" He asked as she leaned over the barricade to see into his side of his kitchen.

She watched him wave a white stick across the counters, a glowing light shining off the surface. "Very much. What is that?"

"A sanitizing wand." Before she could move, he passed it over her hands, a tingling sensation prickling at her skin. "Have to make sure you're not carrying unwanted _bacteria _into my kitchen." He pointed at an access door to her right, just at the end of the chow line. "Come."

Obediently, she passed into the kitchen.

Most everything on the ship was eerily sterile, except, it seemed, the kitchen. Despite having equipment like the sanitizing wand, it was the epitome of cluttered. Crates were stacked everywhere, narrow paths made in order to access 'necessary' space. The Chef navigated through the mess, pointing at lockers and refrigerators and various other instruments that she couldn't even begin to relate to.

"Once you get a rotation schedule, the kitchen will be less cluttered." He promised with a sly smile, as if blaming the disorganized state on her.

Certain that her cheeks were red from the accusation, she argued, "I don't see how it's my fault."

"Well, I had to order all these crates of vegetables since we have none growing on board. Yet." Now that he had pointed it out, she could see the small stamps on each crate, identifying them as produce. "How long until we see fresh vegetables?"

"A few months. At least."

He continued forward, but looked back at her with a rising brow, "Even with rapid growth?"

"Rapid growth?"

"And you said you were a horticulturist." The Andorian tsked. "Most hydroponics bays have at least one maturation modifier. It's a machine designed to speed up a plant's growth, though it tends to end up killing the plant if it's used for more than one harvest. Usually it is rotated from garden to garden after initial launch. It will help get you on schedule."

Hesitantly, and with a touch of skepticism, she repeated, "A maturation modifier." Wouldn't that have been something Garren used? If so, then why had she not seen one during her time at Denver.

The Chef sighed, "Yes. I've worked in several hydroponics bays and they have always had at least one."

She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. "I've inventoried every box in that bay and I haven't seen anything like that."

A loud snapping sound reached her ears and she stared at his hand. The man must have been raised on Earth to be using such common gestures. She doubted other races snapped their fingers when they got an idea. "Well, then it must be in use somewhere else on board."

More skeptical glares his way. "You think someone took it from the bay?"

"Scandalous, I know." Oddly, he didn't look the least bit concerned. In fact, he seemed to thrive on the idea, the antenna on his head curling down.

"Is that a note of suspicion I hear?" If she had him pegged right, then he was a gossiper, a wanna be detective, and a jack of all trades.

"Absolutely. There's a thief on board, Amelia Wright, and we have to find them. Our bright red tomatoes depend on it." She didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. It was the very last thing she needed. Another task on her to-do list.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **A couple of author's notes to address questions in the reviews. It gets hard to put everything in the story, especially when the writer is as scatter-brained as I am, so there's things that I have only glossed over. Amelia's knowledge of Khan is extremely limited. Pretty much anything that would have been in the news is what she would know. She is fitting in nicely in 2259 and she has adapted well to her surroundings. Amelia's character becomes defined by her ability to adapt. One experience after another. I debated about how I wanted this story to be written and I decided to do it in glimpses. You'll find that most chapters cover new topics, yet connect older ones as far as personal relationships develop. I hope this answers some questions. I also hope they will be answered in the story as time goes by.

I'm working out kinks in the following chapters and have hit a minor rough spot in plot so be kind if it takes the full week for an update. I try and do it sooner as each chapter is complete.

Enjoy!

* * *

**STARDATE 2260.015**

**Beta Quadrant**

"I paid $4500 for the little ford. It was a standard transmission, five years old, and had 76,000 miles on it. But it was clean and dent-free and I had just enough in savings to say yes. The following January there was an unexpected hail storm and no dents turned into about 15 all over the hood. It made it another eight years and 90,000 miles before I... well before I wasn't there to drive it anymore. I probably would have had to get a new car anyway. I miss my truck." Amelia paused the log, wondering what else was worth adding. _Maybe I'll come up with something later_, she decided and saved it. She'd only made a few logs so far but they were quality. She considered sending them the Richard, but recalled that he had asked her to just hold onto it.

An already watched video log sat paused on her comms terminal, Richard's face carrying a smile, but his eyes looking tired. He'd updated her on the Salo situation, but the progress wasn't as hopeful as he had expected. But he reminded her that she was safe where she was and that he wouldn't stop until this was 'taken care of'. Whatever that meant.

Powering off her data padd and terminal, she put that out of her mind. There was other stuff she needed to focus on. Like the investigation to find the maturation modifier. Every time a lead had been established, she'd reach a dead end. It was time to pull in more resources. If there was indeed a thief on board, as Chef Th'eon had suggested, then alerting security would be the next step.

She looked to the red numbers just above her door, sighing when she realized that it was time to return to the bay. An engineer would be there soon, finally on loan from Chief Scott, to help with the secondary environment. Even though Yoeman Fuller had said there was only two Vulcans on board, she still intended on using it from Vulcan produce. She could always change it after first harvest.

At precisely 0800 hours she left her room. Instead of the white uniform she had been used to, she had replicated a brown one, using what was left of her January rations. Brown seemed like a more appropriate color, much better at hiding the smudges of dirt that would no doubt appear over the course of the day, Though the white uniform sat folded in her room, waiting to be worn the following day. It had become a key factor in identifying her across the ship.

She passed a few familiar faces in the corridors, other people who lived nearby, and a few smiled in greeting. One day she'd make it a point to learn their names. But not today. By 0815 she was in the hydroponics bay where she heard a small voice echoing from the other end.

Her first thought was that it was the borrowed engineer. "Bloody panels are warped." And not just any engineer it seemed. She found him leaning one of the panels against the wall, his gaze rapt on the base. Like his muttering had pointed out, the panel was curved instead of straight.

"Chief Scott." A startled glare was shot her way, but it quickly softened, a small smile forming on his face.

"Scotty." He gently corrected. "And good mornin', Miss Wright."

"I figured you would send someone else." Since she was sure the Chief Engineer had better things to do than work in the hydroponics bay. Scattered tools rested around his feet and she watched as he stepped around them, moving to get a broader view of the corner where the enclosed space would be.

"Every now and then I like a good project that's _not_ the engine. Besides, I think she'll get along without me for the day." His hand patted the wall and she realized that the _she_ he was referring to was the ship. Just like she formed emotional connections to her plants, he seemed to have done the same with the Enterprise. "Ya' ready to get started?"

There was quite a lot to be learned from Scotty, a genius with a quick calculating mind. He was inventive and dedicated. When they weren't physically involved with the construction, they spoke of the ship and his eyes would gleam with pride and a touch of love.

He talked about the crew and the engaging story of how he'd become part of it. It was almost unbelievable. They had experts on everything. The transporter, languages, security, engines, and navigation. And there was herself, the horticulturist. Apparently word had gotten around about the hydroponics bay and their new crew member who wasn't Starfleet.

At some point he'd asked, "So, how did ya' come across this assignment, lass?"

_Oh you know... I'm a time traveler from 1992 and there really wasn't any other place I could go. I don't have up to date skills either. Life's kind of funny like that. _Instead she'd said, "Just lucky I guess."

A few hours in, their bodies tired from labor and begging for a break, Scotty was called back to main engineering. He had left in a hurry, but told her to hold off on continuing the construction. "Probably preventing some kind of core melt-down." She said, but trailed off on a laugh, suddenly going serious as she felt that it could be a very real possibility.

Especially after hearing stories of the ship's previous encounters. One on one battles against planet destroying ships. Fights with other Starfleet vessels that had been commandeered by maniacs. All within a couple years of the Enterprise's initial creation.

Not only did the ship have history, but so did many members of its crew. Scotty told her of a fight that ensued between the First Officer and the Captain, describing it as 'exciting'. She wasn't sure if exciting was the word she would have used. Weren't those two responsible for the safety of the entire crew? Did they often get into fist fights?

A chime sounded throughout the cargo bay and Amelia recognized it as the comms center. She quickly made her way to the panel. "Amelia Wright." She answered, holding down the talk key.

"_I won' be making it back today. One of the nacelles is overtaking the other on power. If I don't get 'er fixed then we'll be moving in circles." _She didn't even bother trying to figure out what a _nacelle_ was.

"Do you want me to pack up anything?" Her gaze drifted towards the mess in the corner, tools and broken panels spread across the floor.

"_Nah. Leave it for me, lass. I'll continue work on it tomorrow. Scotty, out."_

Since that project was on hold, she figured it would be a good time to see Chef. Th'eon would love to hear about her day so far, more of his time spent gossiping than cooking. And if she left soon she could catch him before the lunch rush.

Fixing her hair back into a respectable bun, she left the bay, taking the turbolift to deck 3. After more than a week of walking the same route, she was more familiar with it now. She could even make it at the end of the day when it was an effort just to keep her eyes open.

The dining hall wasn't empty, but it was far from crowded. Th'eon was already serving at the line, his eyes finding her almost immediately. He threw a box on someone's tray and shooed away an ensign, calling her over. "Amelia, darling. Come on in."

Unlike before, the kitchen now had a semblance of order. Many of the crates were gone and the ones that were left had been organized. Chef had her to thank for that, as she had spent a day dedicated to making paths throughout the room. It had been the only way to get to the excess produce storage area. "I heard that you had a visitor today."

"Where do you _hear_ these things?" The exasperated statement escaped her, his unlimited knowledge of the ship's activity worthy of jealousy.

"One of the crew was talking about it. I hear everything. Superior, remember?" Grinning, he pointed at one of his antenna, as if that explained why. "Also, have you found your maturation modifier?"

"No." A small bowl of something liquidy was shoved in her hand and even though she couldn't identify what it was it smelled good. As soon as Chef handed her a spoon, she took a sip. "I think I need to talk to security."

"And the investigation intensifies." His antennas curled, and she'd learned that it meant he was plotting. Or possibly angry. The two were almost indiscernible. "It would be appropriate to inform security. However, I have heard that we have a hobbyist on board."

"A hobbyist of what?" She took another sip of the nutty soup and passed Th'eon a satisfied wave of approval. Not only could he gossip, but he cooked just as well.

Another ensign appeared on the line and she followed him to the serving area. He didn't let work stop him from continuing to inform her. "Lieutenant Mark Dualla is a practicing gardener."

"And where can I find this Lieutenant?"

"I believe he works in operations." Something Chef didn't know? Amelia arched a brow in surprise. "You would need to talk to Personnel to verify... or you could wait until I _hear_ something else."

"If he even has it at all." Amelia cleaned out her empty bowl, placing it in a stack. It was a small lunch, but the Chef wouldn't be offended if she cut it short to follow up on his lead. In fact, his curling antenna said he'd be disappointed if she didn't.

When she made it back to the hydroponics bay, she was stunned to see two men in the back, busily working on setting up walls. They both turned in greeting to wave, but were back at work a second later.

At this rate, it would be up before tomorrow.

**STARDATE 2260.015**

**Beta Quadrant**

McCoy stared at his friend across the table, an exhausted look on his face as he glanced up at the clock with a hopeful gaze. Another story of James T. Kirk's _amazing_ exploits ensued, the man boastfully claiming how he'd saved not one, not two, but three damsels in distress. "It was insane, Bones. I mean these two guys were huge. Massive. But I guess they'd underestimated little ole' me." It continued on, the story even more outrageous than the last time he'd heard it.

And the worse part was... he'd been there. "It was one girl, Jim. One girl and one guy. And he was as scrawny as Chekov. _And_ the police were there within four minutes."

Jim's enthusiasm fell, a narrowed glare shot his way. "You know how to bring a man down, Bones. Next time I won't be telling you the story." The lingering threat was enough to bring a smile to McCoy's face.

"You promise?" At his request, Jim went back to his food, silently. McCoy shot another glance at the clock before looking back at his own bowl. Whatever was inside was thick, creamy, and brown. Not a stew, and not quite a soup. His mouth turned down in disgust. "What is this? Is this even food?"

"Taste fine." McCoy glanced up to see Jim putting the spoon in his mouth. With food still inside, he said. "You can see if Chef will get you something else."

"And anger the Andorian that fixes my food every day? You know how they are, Jim. Vengeful." He pushed the tray away, crossing his arms in distaste. "I think I'll just use the replicator."

"Hey, hey. Who's that?" Whatever Jim had seen, caused him to put the spoon down, his eyes focused somewhere behind McCoy.

"Let me guess. It's a woman." Rapid nods ensued.

"Yeah. Brown uniform." A hand tugged on his shoulder, stopping him from turning around. "Don't look now!" Jim hissed. "Real pretty. Blond hair. She's talking to Chef. I've met almost everyone on board and I've never seen her."

"She's probably got better things to do than to be ogled by you, Jim." McCoy firmly tapped his friend in the chest. "Leave her be."

"She's not even Starfleet." At this, McCoy felt his interest rise. Another attempt to turn around was thwarted.

"Talking to an Andorian. Not Starfleet. Blond hair And you've never met her?" Sarcastically, McCoy sneered. "Must be a spy. Best stare at her to make sure she doesn't poison us all." He jerked on Jim's sleeve, pulling him into the chair.

"You sure know how to bring a man down, Bones." Jim said again as he picked up his tray, his eyes trailing towards the door. This time, McCoy was able to turn his head. "She's gone. Let's go talk to Chef."

"Bout the food?" He'd be sure to politely suggest not making this... dish again.

"Bout the girl." The exasperated sigh that followed was almost as frustrating as Jim's obsession with women. Not that McCoy didn't have that problem once upon a time. But life had delivered a hard lesson that the opposite sex was a force to be trifled with. His nickname was proof of that fact.

They dumped their trays in the recycler, Jim being the first to make it up to the serving line. As the Captain, his mere presence caused the few people in line to step aside. The Chef stared his way, a slow smile spreading across his face. McCoy wasn't sure what the moving antenna meant, but knowing the Andorian it wasn't a good sign.

Jim just had more faith in people than he did. Of course, being a doctor didn't help his outlook on life. He got to see stupid first hand every day...

"Good afternoon, Chef." McCoy rolled his eyes at the smooth tone of his friend's voice. It was sweet and sickening and it reminded him of a used car salesman.

That charm wasn't as effective on the Andorian. His blond brow rose just a little as he corrected Jim. "Good _morning_, Captain."

McCoy watched on as his friend continued to make a fool of himself, the man's hand waving in an uninterested gesture. Sometimes... it was like waiting for the trains to collide. "Is it morning? I hadn't really noticed."

"So what did you notice that brought you to converse?" There was a knowing look on the alien's face which made the question all the more irritating.

McCoy intervened with a sneer. "The girl. Who is she?"

"What girl?" Feigning ignorance, the Andorian waved a hand in the general direction of a group of seated women. "I see lots of females. Every day. Every meal service. "

Jim turned an annoyed glance at the doctor, saying without words that he wasn't impressed with his methods. Taking back the conversation, Jim said, "No time for games, Chef. McCoy here said she could be a spy."

"A spy. How interesting..." The Andorian trailed off, an annoying habit. McCoy shoved an elbow into Jim's side, hoping to push this along.

"Seriously, who is she?"

"That's not how this works. Tit for tat, Captain. You give me yours..." Even McCoy would have thought the Captain above having to trade gossip, but the Andorian was still waiting and Jim looked ready to give.

"Bold, Chef. Real Bold." Jim tapped his fingers on the barricade for a moment, then suddenly snapped his fingers. "Alright. I heard that the First Officer is involved with our linguist."

Chef cast him an annoyed glare that said he was losing interest. "That was old news two years ago."

"Fine. Ensign Wallis is supposedly sleeping with Lieutenant Parr." Those antenna snapped straight, and then slowly curled towards white hair.

Apparently it was satisfactory gossip, because Chef placed his hands against the barricade and leaned in, saying in a soft voice just above a whisper, "Her name is Amelia Wright. She's a horticulturist and she works in the hydroponics bay." Quickly, he shoved off the barricade, moving to stand in front of someone waiting with a tray. "Now, if you're done _interrogating_ me, I have a crew to serve and you're holding up the line."

As they left the dining room, McCoy turned to Jim. "You do know that you have access to all the personnel files."

"Too much work."

"More than that." With a quick jerk of his thumb he pointed towards the dining hall. Why was it that Jim always chose the path of most resistance? He watched his friend's back as Jim headed the opposite direction of the bridge.

Shaking his head at the man's antics, his feet carried him the well worn path towards sickbay. He was scheduled to review the ship's roster and find out if there were any non-vaccinated personnel on board. And he was already running ten minutes behind his preset schedule.

"No point in really keeping time on this damn ship." Because everything seemed to operate in days and weeks and the months it took to pass from one solar system to another. Jim had mentioned checking out an anomaly that was four days travel from their current location.

Which was who knows where in the Beta quadrant. Personally, McCoy hated space. He hated everything about it. The endless expanse. The disease. And the boredom. What he wouldn't give to be performing surgery...

But he had adapted to it, because life was one small adaptation after another until evolution kicked in and rocked the whole system.

Sickbay was as empty as ever, the only signs of life stuck in petri dishes. Sitting at his terminal, he started filtering through the personnel files. All of operations was up to date, the last of their stragglers having come in a few days prior. And navigation had been good to go since day one. He sorted everyone by sections, ticking them off one by one.

Supply however, was composed of multiple groups. The dining hall, the quartermaster's crew, and.. the hydroponics bay. It was listed as having only one member. The female that Jim had seen.

And McCoy could see why she'd caught Jim's eye as he looked over her photo. She was real pretty, stark blue eyes and blond hair. Expanding her profile, he went through it, both medical and historical. The two almost contradicted one another. "Why is she getting the Xeno series when she was born on Earth?" He rechecked the dates of the last set she'd received. "Someone's due.." Marking the profile, he found himself reading the historical data.

"Arizona, 2229. 30 years old with a birthday in May. Degree in Horticulture studies." It seemed... sterile, less thorough than most contractor's profiles. He skipped to the bottom. "Redacted. Now why in the hell would a horticulturist have a classified file?"

"Computer!" He shouted, swerving in his chair. "Where is the location of crew member Amelia Wright?"

A computerized female voice responded, **"Cargo bay six."**

"Open a comm channel with Amelia Wright's communicator."

"**There is no assigned communicator." **

"Why the hell not?"

"**Unrecognized command." **

"I wasn't talking to you." He muttered as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Every member of the crew had a communicator. It was standard issue. His eyes drifted back to the screen, the big red letters at the bottom of her file standing out. REDACTED. Wondering if sickbay was the only place she had yet to visit, he instructed the computer, "Computer, open a comm channel with Yeoman Fuller."

A series of beeps sounded and he heard the brisk voice of the young man. _"Quartermaster Fuller." _

Going with his hunch, he asked, "This is Doctor McCoy. Did you process Amelia Wright when she came on board?"

"_Actually... no, sir. She did stop by before launch though. Asked for some supplies for the hydro bay. Real nice lady." _By the tone of his voice, real nice lady meant she hadn't hounded him like everyone else pre-launch.

"Why wasn't she processed?"

"_She wasn't on record to be processed. I did check the manifest after seeing her though. I'd figured she must have been processed on another ship and just moved with equipment. For all I can see she's valid crew."_

"Well, set her up with a standard issue. White uniforms, communicator. Whatever else she would get on initial boarding."

"_Will do, sir." _Hopefully the kid wouldn't ask too many questions and would keep this to himself.

McCoy briefly considered telling him not to mention it, but decided against it. Their quartermaster wasn't known for gossiping, unlike the Andorian... and Uhura... and pretty much everyone else. "Computer, close channel."

McCoy scratched his head in confusion. It was like she came out of nowhere. No processing through supply. No processing through medical. The latter was worse because she'd missed an entire series of hyposprays. "Infect the entire crew and then where would we be. In space... with no one to save us."

He grunted, heading over to collect the necessary supplies and a transport kit. He could open a comm directly to the hydroponics bay and summon her to sickbay, but this was something he'd make the trip for. And Jim had wanted to know more about her so if a few questions came up then so be it.

Finished with packing everything into a silver briefcase, he went back to the terminal to close her file. It wouldn't do to have anyone else seeing it. The last thing they needed on board was all eyes pointed at the new girl...

**STARDATE 2260.015**

**Beta Quadrant**

The two crew members continued to work in the back corner, making decent headway in the past twenty minutes. Amelia tried to keep her distance, but in the end she would find herself over someone's shoulder. She didn't want to correct them, knowing that it would get back to the chief if she continued to hassle his crew.

_But the door is in the wrong place. _It had been much easier working with Scotty, the man a perfectionist. His crew just didn't seem to have the same idea on where everything was supposed to go. Finally, she stopped one of them, once more showing them the diagram she'd drawn. Without complaint, they moved the door.

_See.. that wasn't so hard. _She'd never had to manage people before, her little greenhouse a one-woman shop. And it hadn't required hours just staring at a screen trying to learn how to use it.

Satisfied that they were back on track, she returned to the plant beds, adjusting lighting one each one to simulate night. Originally she'd wanted to do it when she went to bed, but after finishing another chapter in the hydroponics bay guide she'd learned that growing plants in space was done just a little... differently.

With the crew's few mishaps, she didn't feel like leaving to track down the hobbyist Lieutenant Mark Dualla. She made her way to the cargo bay doors, opening a container that was attached to the wall. The assigned data padd rested inside, already powered on. She pulled it out, navigating until she opened a free notes section. With a quick scrawl, she wrote his name.

A task for tomorrow.

Ever since she had finished setting up the plant beds, she realized why this had been a single person assignment. It wasn't too hard. Yeah, there were a few pop up jobs aside from the regular maintenance and care of the plants, but it wasn't more than one person could handle.

In fact, she found it pretty crowded right now with three...

Attempting to keep herself otherwise occupied, she grabbed a tricorder that was sitting next to the data padd. It was a good time to check the soil, the tomatoes showing their first sign of green. Before she was able to turn around and get started, the bay doors opened.

And in waltzed the captain.

She'd seen him around, his stature hard to miss, crew members going out of their way when he was nearby. She wondered what had brought him to the hydroponics bay. Maybe he was checking the status, an errand that he was bound to get to sooner rather than later.

"Captain Kirk." She said as she replaced the tricorder back into its holder, tilting her head to give him a once over. They could have passed for siblings, blond hair, blue eyes, and similar short stature shared between the both of them. Except he could easily pass for model material. His yellow shirt was crisp and clean, looking as diplomatic as Richard always had.

When he smiled it was far more familiar, flirty and casual. He gave an uncertain wave of his hand, gesturing towards her. "You're Amelia Wright?"

"I am." The noise in the back corner of the room came to a halt and she shifted to glance back. The two crewman sat watching her interaction with the captain. Realizing they'd be caught, they turned back to the work, the faint noise of tools once more filling the bay. Slowly, she turned back to the captain. "What can I do for you?"

With a small shrug, he started off towards the cucumber bed, his eyes darting between her and the small green leaves popping out of the ground. "I just thought it was time to see if we had some veggies."

She smiled, a little amused by the fact that he thought they would be farther along. He didn't seem like the kind of man who would take interest in things like plants and a still under construction hydroponics bay. "It'll take longer than a couple of weeks. But they are in the ground. And they're showing progress."

He did a good job feigning interest in the bay, walking past the various plant beds, eyes landing on each one for just the right amount of time. But there was a hesitancy to his step and he would cast her the occasional sideways glance. Like he was patiently waiting for something.

Being forward had never let her down, so she went ahead and asked, "Is there anything else?"

That seemed to be what he was waiting for, because he turned on his heel, facing her with that same wide smile. "Well, as Captain, I make a personal effort to introduce myself to all new members of the crew. So, after looking at the manifest you can imagine how disappointed I was to find out that I had overlooked the one person who is going to keep us well fed." He was good. The right amount of charm. The right amount of looks.

If only she hadn't already been warned by Th'eon that the man was an incorrigible womanizer. Of course, that just made it better seeing the captain in action.

With her own wide smile forming, she said. "I'm afraid Chef's in the dining facility on deck three." His smile didn't fall, but instead shifted into a grin.

"Ha. I get it." He opened his mouth to say something else, but it snapped shut, his eyes landing somewhere behind her. She turned to see the open doors of the bay, a man in a white medical jacket carrying a silver case stepping inside.

Where she would have classified the captain as pretty, the doctor easily fell into 'rugged'. A small growth of facial hair and accusing hazel eyes completed that picture. She found her smile faltering, a little stunned by his sudden arrival. Though she wasn't as caught up on all the gossip like Chef was, she had still heard plenty about the ship's doctor.

"Doctor McCoy?" She asked, catching the small nod he sent her way. Finally, she had a face to put against the man who had been shouting at Anthony in supply.

"Amelia Wright?" He practically grunted in question, and she nodded back.

"Bones." The captain at her back said across her shoulder.

"Jim." Another grunt, but a little friendlier than the one she'd been given.

There was an extended pause before she clapped her hands, all eyes turning towards her. "Well... now that everyone's met, uh, can I ask what you guys are doing in the hydroponics bay." It certainly wasn't the best place to hold a sort of meeting...

Captain Kirk sighed and rolled his eyes before muttering. "Thought we just went over this."

The doctor, still glaring, ignored him and said, without the grunting, "You're due for your Xeno series and giving you the benefit of the doubt-" The way he said it, his voice slow and dry, implied the opposite. "-I realized you didn't know how to get to sickbay to receive them."

"Xeno series?" Kirk asked with a hopeful tone. She couldn't understand why this made the captain perk up. He tilted his head to look her way. "You're not Terran?" Maybe he was into aliens?

"I am. I just never received them as a child." It was bound to come up at some point, and she found herself easily regurgitating the practiced response. "In fact, I only started to get them after contracting with Starfleet." The last part was an added amendment to ease her conscience. It wasn't a lie, but it was close enough that saying it made her heart beat just a little faster.

"Captain," Doctor McCoy said, a little more formal than before. His eyes had yet to stray from her and she couldn't help but feel a little intimidated. Was he angry? Based on what she had heard, the better question was _when is he not angry._ "I have a few questions for Miss Wright and I'm afraid I need to ask you to leave."

A harsh whisper passed between the two, too low for her to catch, but she did hear the captain's farewell, "Didn't think you had it in you, Bones." Then he turned on his heel, as quickly as he had before, to face her. "It was a pleasure. I hope to see you again sometime."

"It's a small ship, sir. I'm sure we'll run into one another." Both she and McCoy watched as the captain left the cargo bay. Before she could begin to get drilled with medical questions, she looked towards the two crewmen in the back of the bay. Figuring it was best that she be the one to kick them out, she shouted, "Hey!" She waited a moment for them to stop working. "Mind taking a lunch and giving us a minute?"

They passed questioning glances to one another, but proceeded to lay their tools on the ground and head out the doors. When she turned back to the doctor, he was still staring at her,

"You gonna tell me what you're doing on this ship?" A small part of her had been expecting this. Someone was eventually going to ask that question, and it made sense that it was Doctor McCoy. He had access to her file. And she was sure that he was a smart man and could put pieces together.

Though he'd never come close to guessing the truth.

Richard had prepped her. His father had prepped her. But lying didn't come naturally and she had to be careful about what she said. Another set of practiced answers started to flow, automatic with a touch of personalization. "I was assigned to this ship. And if you look around you'll see why." With a small wave, she indicated towards the plants behind her.

For a brief moment she wondered if he was a betazoid, able to read her mind. Because his face told her he thought there was something she wasn't telling him. "My duty is to protect the crew of the Enterprise. Now, I don't know who got you on board, but the fact that you skipped medical and supply brings up a whole lot of questions." She took a moment to process that statement. Was he implying that she would _harm _members of the crew? The subtle insinuation irritated her, her eyes narrowing in response.

He watched her as he started walking towards the only desk in the bay, resting his silver case on its surface. With a flick of his thumbs, he popped it open.

In a defensive manner she brought up her hands, palms facing him. "Woah, woah, woah. One, I'm not Starfleet. I didn't _have_ to go through you. Two, I went to supply on my second day of being on this ship. I didn't _skip _anything."

"You skipped your Xeno series, which is a biological hazard. Especially when you're trapped in a steel container with over a hundred other people."

"Yeah, well, I've had a lot on my plate trying to get food on yours." This time, she let some of that irritation seep into her voice.

"Hell of an effort." An unimpressed glance was sent past her towards the several seeded beds. "Maybe in half a year I'll get a damn potato." The conversation was swept into a swift spiral downwards. Every word out of his mouth sounding more and more like an accusation. Hell, it _was_ an accusation. He was pissed, but she just couldn't figure out the reason. He didn't even know her. A small voice retaliated in her mind with '_maybe that's why'. _

He continued, pulling a hand held device out of his jacket pocket. "And why don't you have a communicator? It's standard issue!"

"I don't have one, because they are _Starfleet_ issue."

"Contractors get them too!" McCoy shook his head, as if trying to clear it of confusion. That hard stare went back on her a moment later as he asked, "What are you doing on this ship?"

She wasn't sure if it was that ruggedly handsome face, or his god-awful attitude, but the sudden desire to hit him almost overwhelmed her. Several four letter words came to mind, but she kept her mouth closed, her jaw clenching in rising anger.

Those practiced answers were shoved to the side. She didn't have to defend herself to him. Not to anyone. It wasn't her fault that she had been unwillingly _yanked_ from 1992. It wasn't her fault that she had only been given a month to prepare for this life. It wasn't her fault that there were just some things that Richard hadn't told her.

Her hand balled into a fist, her fingernails biting into skin. _Don't take any crap from anyone. _Captain O'Shea's words rang in her mind. Slowly, she looked from him to the open silver case and the five hyposprays resting inside. She didn't feel like fighting with him. She didn't feel like fighting with anyone. With a small sigh, she said, "Just give me my shots and get out of my bay."

If she was lucky, she'd be able to avoid him for the next five years...


	7. Chapter 7

**STARDATE 2260.020**

**Beta Quadrant**

Their journey towards the anomaly was delayed. Captain Kirk announced that the Enterprise was within range of a long range communication's probe. Each deck was given a set time to place video calls, trying to limit everyone from using it all at once. Even with their advanced technology, it seemed that _switch boards_ in space could get overwhelmed. Or at the very least, confused.

Amelia made it back to her quarters just as Deck 4's alloted time rolled around. The small computer terminal was already running, a series of numbers and names already typed into the console. "Denver, Colorado Shipyard. Commander of Personnel. Richard O'Shea." She read out loud, opening a channel to place the call. Someone, somewhere, would make sure it got to the right person.

It would be the first time they were able to talk one on one since she'd left and it eased some of the strain that had been building on her shoulders. Avoiding the captain had been quite a feat. Avoiding the doctor, however, was just a touch easier since she was sure he'd been doing the same. She still had to track down Lieutenant Mark Dualla and see if he had taken the maturation modifier. And then there was the secondary environment. Though the room was fully constructed, figuring how to configure all the settings was taking hours of reading through the hydroponics bay guidelines.

All she wanted to do now, was talk to someone. The terminal's background changed to the Starfleet seal, a few beeps sounding and a line of text running across the screen that told her the call was being made. In less than a minute, Richard's face appeared. She didn't know if he could see her well, but his image was crisp and clear.

Then his voice sounded from small speakers on the front of the terminal. _"Amelia! I've been wondering when I'd get a real call instead of those short videos." _Unexpectedly, her eyes welled with tears.

"Oh, Richard... it's so good to see you." Swiping a hand across her cheeks, she managed a smile. Seeing Richard, the one person she considered family in this new world, was like a kick in the gut. She could have never prepared herself for it.

"_Hey, hey. Don't cry." _His quick request made a few more tears fall, so she took a minute to wipe her face with her sleeve. When she turned back to the monitor he continued. _"Let me secure this line and you can tell me how things are going." _After a minute, he motioned for her to go on.

"It's... going. The bay is mostly finished. The vegetables are planted and a small bed of flowers, too." She wanted to complain about everything else, but her time was already too short to fill it with talk of negative things. "I'm-" She tried to think of the right way to put it. "-settling in."

"_Well, we have good news on this end. Salo's case has been put on hold since you were reassigned. A few of the contractors, mainly the installation's gardeners, here have put in good words for you. I'm thinking I'll have a certified title for you within six months." _That was good news. Richard leaned in closer to the monitor, his voice dropping just a little bit. The gesture had her doing the same, even though they were separated by solar systems._"Have you had any problems with your identity file?" _

She felt her smile drop. "Nothing I can't handle."

"_I know you. There's something you're not telling me." _

"Well. Apparently all new crew members have to go through some kind of processing. The fact that I didn't has... roused suspicion. If I work hard and actually do what I'm good at then I have the feeling they'll accept me." Some people already had, and that brief reminder brought her smile back. Th'eon 'traded' gossip with her. Scotty stopped by the bay on occasion. And she'd even made an effort to stop by and see Anthony every now and then. Those few people had a tendency to make her days just a little bit better...

"_We spent a lot of time going over answers to those questions. You're still sticking to the story, right?" _Richard finally leaned back away from the monitor, crossing his arms. In just that single movement he managed to make her feel like a rebelling youth.

With a small sigh, she admitted, "I haven't really divulged the story. Just bits and pieces."

"_Some of those questions would go away if you just filled them in." _She opened her mouth to respond, but he continued. Astute as ever he said, _"You're going to have to lie some time, Amelia. That part of your past... it can't exist here."_

"But it does exist. It happened to me! I don't want to lie about it." Maybe that was the crux of things. Her problems with the doctor. Her hesitancy to push herself farther into the crew's lives.

"_I don't want you stuck inside a medical ward for the rest of the five years you're on that ship." _She suddenly pictured herself in a white straight jacket. _"You don't even mention the words__ 'time travel'.__ You understand that, right?"_

"Yes, but it would just be so much easier if I could _really _talk to someone." What she would give to be able to tell Th'eon about the 80's. Of course, he would go on to tell the entire crew, which would lead to Richard's prediction of the padded room.

"_You can talk to me."_

"Yeah, once every blue moon." When the Enterprise just _happened_ upon a long range comms probe.

"_Talk to me _now._ Tell me about your mom and your many days spent gardening. Hell, tell me about going to a movie theater and watching... what was it... ET!" _He smiled and snapped his fingers. In that charming way of his, full of honesty and care, he managed to pull her to a topic that he knew would make her smile.

So she told him more about her mother and a little about her father. And for added measure she talked about her greenhouse. Stories he had heard before and a few he hadn't. A random trip down to flagstaff to visit John. A journey to the Grand Canyon.

The memories, some fading and some fresh, were carried with her long after she had to finish the call. It had been a mood lifter getting the chance to talk to Richard, but she knew that those kinds of opportunities would come few and far between.

With her personal time coming to an end, she looked over the hydroponics bay data padd and stared at the name scrawled across the screen. Mark Dualla. Th'eon had asked her every day how the 'investigation' was coming along and today she planned on having a different answer.

She had to find someone with access to the manifest. "Anthony." The quartermaster had a list of every crew member _and_ the location of their quarters. Since Anthony lived on deck 5, his alloted time was still a couple of hours away. Which meant he would be in the office. Probably bored. Probably hungry...

Amelia set a plan of action, fixing her hair into a loose pony-tail and straightening the collar of her new white uniform. Tucking the data padd under her arm, she began the small walk towards the dining facility.

A few corridors, a turbolift ride, and following the smell of food, she made a direct bee-line towards Chef. He must have sensed her budding enthusiasm, because those antenna curled. He leaned forward, his hands braced against the barricade. Sharp as ever, he asked, "What is it you need?"

"Good food." She said with a grin. "To go."

His eyes went to her hair, the free falling strands drawing attention. Mainly because he had never seen her wearing it that way. With his own slow forming grin, he asked, "Are you trying to impress someone? I thought I was the only man in your life."

"You're the only Andorian if it makes you feel any better." A slight twitch of those antenna told her that he approved. Then again, he was one of four Andorians on the ship. Glad to have boosted his ego for once, she continued, "And yes. I'm going to attempt to get information."

"On our thief?" His inquiry was combined with the fake curling of an imaginary mustache. An act she'd seen him do once or twice before. Life on Earth had certainly made an impression on the chef.

She reminded him of another one of Earth's traditions, hoping that it hadn't changed over time. "Innocent until proven guilty, Th'eon."

"In that case, let me make something. Come in." Heading back into the kitchen, Amelia was reminded why her task was so important. The crates were getting fewer and fewer in number, their supply of fresh vegetables dwindling. All the reading she had done on the maturation modifier said that it would cut the growth time down to a just a quarter of natural time. She needed to get a hold of it and quick.

"Pasta or red meat?" Th'eon asked, already pulling out equipment.

"Can I get both?" Her eyes widened slightly, her expression hopeful.

He tsked her, "You know the drill."

This time she arched a brow at him, crossing her arms. "Get cooking and I'll share." Resting a hip against a counter, she waited for the soft clatter of pots and pans. As soon as the familiar dings sounded in the kitchen, she started. "Well, Captain Kirk stopped by the bay yesterday around 1400 hours. He told me a little bit about the anomaly we're going to be checking out and we should be there in a couple of days. Scotty visited around 1900, hung out for an hour. He told me about a girl he's interested in."

The sizzling of meat could be heard through the room, the smell making her mouth water. She should have asked for another portion. Before she had a chance to mention it, Th'eon perked up. "Do you have a name?"

"No." She said and disappointment fluttered across his blue face. "He's keeping it to himself for now."

"Anything else?" Th'eon set aside some black containers. With a shake of her head, he continued to pull out the garnish, and she found herself appreciating the extra effort. Even with her tiny tidbit of gossip.

Technology made the cooking process faster, but it still was a good eight minutes before the pasta and meat was finished. The Andorian placed a small round steak in the smaller box as she recalled something else. "Oh, and I saw that Ensign you pointed out. She is definitely into Parr. How did you find out about that anyway?"

"How do I find out about anything?" Th'eon gave her that trademark shrug of his, the one that tried to say he wasn't impressed with himself, even though everyone on board knew he was a narcissus. Then he scooped the pasta into one of the boxes.

She plucked out a piece of penne, shoving it quickly into her mouth and avoiding the hand slap Th'eon sent her way. Another small grin formed on her face. "You make up stuff and bribe the crew with false information?"

"You know me too well, darling." He said as he held open the kitchen door, shooing her on. "Let me know how it goes!" The farewell drew a few glances their way, members of the crew finally showing up for lunch. She could only imagine what was going on through their minds.

But she didn't let it get her down. Today was going to be productive and positive. She had Richard and Th'eon to thank for that. Juggling the packed lunch and the data padd, she headed off towards the supply room on Deck 5.

As she passed through one corridor to another she realized that the ship _sounded_ like home. She was able to ignore the soft hums, the various beeps, and could even recognize what most of them meant. It had taken a few weeks, but now it was comforting. Even the gravity difference was something she no longer noticed.

The thought made her smile as the door to supply slid open. As usual, Anthony was sitting at his desk on the other side of the shelves, leaning over a data padd with a frustrated expression on his face. She rapped her knuckles against one of the metal shelves.

As soon as he looked up, he shot her a tired smile. "They running you ragged?" She asked, holding out the two boxes of food.

A small sigh escaped him as he pushed aside the data padd, setting the food on the desk. "I'm going over weapons inventory with the armorer. A couple of discrepancies have popped up." Discrepancies and weapons weren't something anyone would consider good news.

She gave him a small frown. "That doesn't sound good."

"It could be nothing." The words were optimistic, but his tone wasn't. She wondered if she had picked a good day to try and butter him up. He opened the containers, inhaling deeply. "You're an angel, Amelia. Thanks for this."

She didn't think it was fair of her to manipulate him, so she opted for another approach. After giving him a few moments to start in on the steak, she said, "Well. I'm actually working for some info."

"Is it classified, because I'll have to stop-" Her hand shot up, palm out in a quick attempt to stop his train of thought. As far as she knew, where someone lived wasn't really classified. It just wasn't info given out to everyone.

"No. Just... sensitive. I'm looking for someone's quarters."

Anthony stilled, a fork of pasta halted in the air. Then he asked, "You going to tell me what this is for?"

"I have a question for him and I don't want to bring it up where he works. It might be... embarrassing." Potentially on her end if he didn't have the modifier. The last thing she wanted to do was accuse someone of stealing when all she had was Th'eon's word.

Anthony didn't say anything else as he finished his meal, looking torn between giving her the information or telling her no. She shifted from foot to foot, hoping for the former. Then he folded up the empty boxes and reached for his data padd and said, at last, "Give me the name."

After another twenty minutes of chatting and catching up, she was given a series of letters and numbers, followed with a stern warning from the quartermaster. _"You didn't get this from me."_

Recycling the boxes, she made her way out of the supply room. Carrying the data padd close to her nose, she looked over a map of the Enterprise. It was a turbolift ride and a few corridors away, she figured, about to put the data padd back under her arm.

Instead, the padd smacked her in the face, pain blossoming in her nose and tears welling in her eyes. Embarrassment filled her and she kept her mouth closed to avoid saying any four letter words. She had collided with an immovable object.

Or an immovable person. "Are you injured?" A concerned voice reached her through the dizziness. Concerned and familiar. The pain seemed forgotten as irritation took over. She lowered the data padd, the hallway coming back into view.

As well as the ever depressing sight of Doctor McCoy. The instant their eyes met, the concern on his face evaporated. _Well, I don't like you either, buddy. _She reminded herself as she touched a hand to her sore nose. He huffed, still glaring at her like he always did the moment they found themselves in the same room. "Damn it, girl." The muttered curse was followed by a quick step her way.

Automatically, she took a single step back. She didn't say she was sorry, even though she was well aware that the collision had been her fault for not paying attention.

She could tell her protective posture had offended him, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Despite whatever negative opinion you have of me. I'm still a doctor. Is it broken?" Her eyes went wide with surprise at his question, her silence seeming to answer him. Maybe he figured she would be screaming or crying if the impact had broken her nose.

His hand twitched upwards, but he quickly retreated as if decided it was a bad idea. If a step forward made her defensive, then touching her probably wasn't a good idea. Instead he moved his head as he looked her over. Finally, he said, "No bleeding or bruising." _Yet. _

"I'll live." She managed to find her voice, small but with a touch of snark. Even with the awkward tension, she still felt compelled to ask, "Are you alright?" If she'd hurt him, there was no telling how long _that_ would be held against her.

"Yes." Seemingly satisfied that she didn't require his care as a physician, he took a wide berth around her as he continued on down the corridor. She watched him over her shoulder, thinking how strange the encounter had been.

They hadn't screamed at one another. And his glare had been short lived. There was still a large amount of distrust on his end and anger on hers, but he had pushed that aside to do his job. Even if for just a moment. It made her feel just a little bit safer, knowing that the doctor had it in him to be profession when it counted.

Rubbing the side of her nose, she looked around to get her bearing. Since every door had markings above it, it wasn't difficult to re-orientate herself and begin the short walk towards the turbolift. This time, she kept the data padd down...

**STARDATE 2260.020**

**Beta Quadrant**

As usual, he sat around hating space. McCoy was days from losing his mind to boredom. All inoculations were done. There were no scheduled surgeries. And since beginning their exploration mission, they had yet to actually explore anything.

"But there's an anomaly, Bones!" He tried to raise his pitch, attempting to match Jim's. An anomaly wasn't going to do anything to ease the stagnant life they had been living. _It's better than dealing with psychos like Khan. Or insane Romulans. _Maybe he should plan a trip to the bridge... stir up something with the green blooded bastard. Of course, even Spock hadn't been as easy to rile up as of late. Perhaps Uhura had something to do with that, toughening him up to better tolerate the _humans_.

He looked towards the clock and realized that he wouldn't be able to make it to deck 4 for his scheduled call time to Earth. Sickbay had it's own terminal, and despite being on another deck, he was certain that a call would still be authorized.

But who could he call? His father was on a carrier ship in the middle of the Pacific. His sister was on a freighter at the opposite end of the alpha quadrant. Getting a hold of them would be next to impossible. Even if he called, he wasn't sure what to talk about.

There were no new stories to tell. No battles or planets to describe. He thought back to a few days prior, his heated encounter with the woman in the hydroponics bay. If anything he could vent about her... his building suspicions.

He pulled up her file on the terminal, scrolling down the bottom. Several times he had attempted to access the REDACTED section, only to be denied over and over.

Suddenly struck with an idea, he starting to place a call. "Computer, open a comm channel. Starfleet Academy. Commander of Personnel. Francis Williamson." Commander Williamson had been a classmate of his back in Mississippi. And not only were they on good terms, but McCoy was also owed a favor. A favor he intended on collecting.

The blue Starfleet emblem appeared, text scrolling across the top and bottom. The call wasn't immediately answered, McCoy placed on a sort of hold. Either he had opened a channel at the wrong time, or his friend was trying to get to another terminal.

It was about a seven minute wait before a man appeared on the screen, a grin on his face. "Leonard! How you doing?"

McCoy grunted, but still managed a half smile. "I'm in the Beta Quadrant. Stuck in the vacuum of space. How do you think I'm doing?"

The man's grin widened on the other end as he gave a chuckle. "Horribly bored? Paranoid about a breach? What can I do for ya?" He cut to the point, a trait that McCoy had always appreciated and a trait which later sealed their friendship all those years ago.

"There's a woman on board. Her name is Amelia Wright. She's not Starfleet and she was assigned to the Enterprise just a few days before we launched. I'm wondering if you have access to her file."

"If she's not Starfleet then it's not likely." McCoy wasn't fully aware of what his friend had access to and the call wasn't looking too productive.

Hopeful, he stated, "The closest transport hub is you guys. She could have been processed in San Fransisco."

"Not on board?" Francis asked and McCoy gave him a quick shake of his head.

"I have a weird feeling about her, Frank. Can you just take a look and see what comes up?" Francis didn't cut their connection, but leaned out of view. When he came back, he was holding an Academy issued data padd. McCoy spelled out the name, and

"Well, damn. She was processed here. There's a big gap in the record though." That same suspicion that McCoy had been feeling was present on his friend's face. "Wait. It says her sponsor was Captain O'Shea of the USS Huron. Do you think she transferred from the Huron?"

"No. She's never been on a ship before. She didn't even have her Xeno series complete."

"I can't see her medical, but that seems odd." The man on the monitor stared at his data padd, shooting the occasional glance up towards McCoy. "Don't Terrans get the Xeno shots as infants?"

"There's exceptions and she's one of them." The real reason was why. And did it have anything to do with her sudden appearance on the ship. Unanswered questions had always captured his interest, though they tended to be of the medical variety. This one... this one wasn't something he could let go.

"Well if she's not Starfleet and she's never been on a ship before... why was she assigned to the Enterprise?" It was the same thing McCoy had asked himself.

"Not sure, but she works in the hydroponics bay."

Francis snapped his fingers. "That explains it! We get contractors for that all the time. I was worried she was working in sickbay with you."

"Still doesn't _feel_ right." With a shake of his head, he leaned back towards the terminal.

Suddenly, Francis's head snapped up, tilting to the side. "Why is there a restricted section on her file?"

"See! Why would a gardener have a classified file?" A sense of justification filled him, his friend confirming that he wasn't the only one with restricted access. Usually the Chief Medical Officer was able to see it all for the sake of properly caring for a patient. So why hadn't he seen Amelia's?

"Did you ever consider that she's Starfleet Intelligence?"

Now _that _was something he hadn't considered. It was plausible, but unlikely. Still, he gave a narrowed glare to his friend. "Ah, hell. Why would you plant that idea in my head? Besides, Starfleet Intel would have at least made her up to date on her shots."

"Unless that's part of her cover." Then the man laughed and McCoy realized he was being toyed with.

He crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair as he growled, "You're an asshole."

"Listen, one out of twenty people in Starfleet have classified files. _You_ have a classified file. You're getting yourself worked up over nothing. She's new... be friendly." Jim had said something similar a few days ago, though he didn't seem to take issue with her classified file. Was McCoy the only one was found this strange?

"She ain't exactly approachable." That might have been his fault though, his behavior not exactly the most profession. Insulting her in the hydroponics bay? _What were you thinking? _But there was still that nagging in the back of his mind. "She's hiding something, Frank. I know it."

"We're all hiding something, Leonard." A knock sounded in the background and Francis looked past his monitor. "I hate to cut this short, but I have 1,000 personnel to prep for graduation. You take care out there."

"You too." McCoy said just before the comm line closed, that Starfleet emblem back on the screen. He realized that the conversation with his friend hadn't gotten him any closer to the truth, though the idea that she was Intel was new and prospering.

_No. You said it yourself that Starfleet would have made sure she had her Xeno. _But what was with her classified file? Still no closer to those answers, he looked up at the clock. It was early, but lunch would already be started and Jim said he was going to grab his before their alloted comms time.

Taking off his jacket and resting it on one of the bio beds, he headed out towards the corridor. Rapidly turning a corner, he was taken by surprise when a soft female body collided with his own. He managed to keep his footing, but the female staggered back.

Of course she hadn't been able to see where she was going, a data padd in front of her face. He put a hand against his chest, staring down at her in shock and hoping that the padd hadn't broken her nose. That _would _help out the issue of boredom though.

_Running around injuring the crew is not a good solution. _"Are you injured?" He asked, automatically.

The data padd fell down to her side, revealing the one person he had so many questions about. The irony of it didn't escape him and he found himself muttered, "Damn it, girl." Looking her over, he found himself suddenly concerned.

Women and tears ate at him, whether for sadness or pain it just wasn't something he could shake. And her blue eyes were brimming with them. _Probably because she just smacked herself in the face with a data padd_.

Worried that it was broken, he took a step towards her. And she immediately took a step back. He didn't know if he should be pissed that she was afraid of him, or work on correcting that unnecessary reaction. He settled on the latter, "Despite whatever negative opinion you have of me. I'm still a Doctor. Is it broken?"

He could see surprise on her face. He _was_ a doctor... what the hell did she think he was going to do? Just leave her standing there with a potentially broken nose? His hand itched to tilt her head so he could get a closer look, but he thought better of it. It was a common injury, one he'd seen hundreds of times. A quick look was all he really needed for the exam.

It was red, not yet bruising and no blood dripped down. He commented on that but inside he was distracted as to why she'd gotten defensive. _Because you've been an ass every time you've seen one another? _It wasn't like he had no reason to be suspicious of her.

"I'll live." That much was certain. "Are you alright?" She seemed genuinely concerned, her eyes drifting up and down his form, as if searching for any injury.

He wasn't quite sure what to make of that, this encounter so different than their previous one. Neither one of them raised their voice, and aside from his swearing it had been... civil. Despite all that, something still nagged at him. _She's still hiding something. Don't forget that. _

Recalling her question, his gaze shot to hers. At least those tears had dried up, making him feel just a little relief. "Yes." He was alright, the tiny woman probably incapably of hurting him. As he remembered her reaction when he'd approached her, he made sure to walk around her as he continued down the corridor.

All he could think about through lunch was, _who the hell is Amelia Wright?_ Maybe the better question was, _why do I care? _

**STARDATE 2260.020**

**Beta Quadrant**

The pain surrounding her nose was fast fading, her eyes still red, but no longer producing a teary response. She tried to push aside the whole incident, her current task needing more attention than the gruff Doctor McCoy.

No... she needed to focus on finding Lieutenant Mark Dualla's room. The series of numbers led her down another hallway, narrowing down the location to just a few rooms. Finally she stood in front of the correct door.

Taking in a deep breath, she prepared herself to press the comm button. With her finger just an inch from the red key, the door slid open to reveal a young man with brown hair and brown eyes. His uniform reminded her of her own. Not that it was white, but because there were various patches of dirt spread across it.

Th'eon, it seemed, hadn't been incorrect. His room smelled of fresh soil, a scent that reminded her of home and the hydroponics bay. When her eyes drifted back open she saw him standing the doorway, looking down at her with a curious gaze. "Can I help you?"

"Actually, I'm hoping you can. My name is Amelia Wright and I work in..." She trailed off, a sight beyond him capturing her attention. In a large glass case, sitting on a table in the center of his room, was an enormous long stemmed rose. It wasn't its size that dumbfounded her though. It was the neon green color. "Oh my God! What is that?"

Suddenly forgetting every ounce of protocol, she pushed past him into the room and stared into the case. "Uh. That's a Glow Rose," Dualla responded. She'd never heard of anything like that. Did it really glow or was it just named that because of its neon color? Anticipating her next question, he hesitantly said, "I'll show you. Lights 30 percent."

When the room's lighting dropped, the rose was the highlighted view. It was brighter than she had expected, casting a green glow across the table, reflecting across the surface and almost touching the walls. "That's amazing!"

"I know. They rarely last this long, but with the modifier the blooms can last for a month." He waved at the glass case and she noticed a control panel on the bottom. So this was the maturation modifier. Shooting her another curious stare, he asked, "I'm sorry, what did you say you do again?"

"I didn't really get there. Distracted." She shrugged a hand towards the rose. " I'm a horticulturist. I work down in the hydroponics bay."

"Oh." He said with a frown, but then he smiled, excitement radiating off of him. "Oh! I didn't know it was operational."

Mark Dualla didn't seem like a thief, just a bundle of energy, all of it directed towards that rose. She piped up, drawing back his attention. "Yes. And we're behind schedule because-"

Looking between her and the rose, he seemed to put two and two together. "Because I have the modifier. Oh, man. I checked with the manifest before I took it." Now the kid looked remorseful, almost worried.

"Well. Here I am. I'm afraid I'll need it back." Rapidly nodding, he agreed.

"If I would have known you were on board, I'd have brought it back immediately. I'll have to go to the transporter room to set up its transfer. It may not be heavy, but it's too big to fit through my door." Amelia had been wondering how he'd gotten it inside, casting a look over her shoulder at the narrow doorway. Far more narrow than the case was wide...

"Seems like an honest mistake." Glancing past the rose, she noticed the rest of the room, several other long stems growing in pots. "You like roses."

It wasn't a question, but he still nodded. "My mother loved roses. I've only recently picked up growing them though." As an afterthought, he added. "It's tougher than it looks."

"Tell me about it." She looked at the glass case, then turned a sideways glance towards Dualla. "If you want, you can come down and help me load it onto the vegetables. It'll be great to have someone that's familiar with it help me out."

His eyes lit up with the offer. "I'd love to come see the bay." Even though he'd been on his way out, he stayed as she told him what was already planted. His genuine interest in plants was heartwarming. No one on board had really been the type to discuss soil nutrient levels for fun or problems with the water system equipment.

Half an hour passed before the conversation came to an end, and she felt better than she had all day. Mark promised to get the modifier transported by the evening and swore he'd stop by the following day to help show her how to use it. By the end of February she'd at least have tomatoes.

A completed video log of her past life. A call with Richard. A friendly chat with Anthony. And now she'd found the maturation modifier. Overall, despite the close call with almost breaking her nose, it turned out to be a pretty productive day.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **More McCoy coming up. I'm still hitting a wall with chapter 11, but I'm hoping to have it written within a couple of days. Let's keep our fingers crossed that it'll happen. I hate writer's block.

Reviews are always welcome and quite encouraging. Please enjoy!

* * *

**STARDATE 2260.024**

**Beta Quadrant**

She had neglected all of her daily duties. There had been no errands run, no hours spent in the hydroponics bay, and no visit to Th'eon for breakfast, lunch, or dinner. It wasn't going to fall apart without her, but today was supposed to be the day she transferred the modifier from the tomatoes to the cucumbers.

Amelia, instead, remained curled up on her bunk, a bucket resting on the floor. It was a change in the room's arrangement born out of necessity. She'd had a good ten minutes of calm, before her stomach turned once more, forcing her to roll over on the bunk and clutch the bucket in her arms, dry heaves wracking her small form.

Her whole body was sore, her throat on fire. She'd lost everything in her stomach a few hours earlier and was left with nothing more each time the urge to throw up hit her. She'd shrugged off the white uniform, determined to wear something that would sooth her. If not physically then at least mentally.

The flannel and jeans had been buried in her backpack since arriving on board. Now, they fit nicely against her person, a remaining scent ingrained in the clothes that could only be described as the desert. It was impossible, really. The clothes were a replicated version of the ones she had arrived in, the originals torn to shreds during the sphere's blast and even more so when she was struck by the hover car.

But just the feel of cotton was enough to bring the memory to the surface.

Or maybe she was just hallucinating. Another wave of nausea passed. More dry heaves and a few more tears. She reached around to pat the floor next to the bunk, her hand searching for a small square device. Her communicator, something she barely knew how to operate.

Prying one eye open, she spotted it and quickly snagged it in her grip, popping it open. Small letters and numbers appeared and she dialed in another comm code. First Initial, Last Initial. Assignment Location. SM-ENG. She was missing the last digit, a precaution against calling two people with similar names. But it would still open a channel.

Someone with the same initials just might happen to get the call as well.

"_Scotty, here." _Hearing the Scottish brogue on the other line, she gave a long sigh of relief, grateful that there wouldn't be anyone else on the line should she start vomiting again. Not that she cared for her friend to hear that either.

Quickly, she replied, "Scotty, it's Amelia."

"_Aye, lass. What can I do for ya?"_

"I need. Someone to help me-" She broke off, clutching the bucket hard against her chest.

More dry heaves. It took a moment for her to catch her breath and she could hear Scotty asking on the other line. _"Ah, Are ya' ill?" _

"-get to sickbay." She continued, both answering his question and asking a favor.

"_It's the anomaly. There's been thirty or so who had to get suppression medication from Doc McCoy. There's assigned personnel to the transporter. Call for a transport." _It was bad enough that she was throwing her guts up, now Scotty was making jokes.

A low groan escaped her as she clipped out, "I don't feel. Like dying. Today."

"_It's perfectly safe." _He'd been trying to get her to use the transporter for weeks now. He should have known that her calling for help was her way of _still _avoiding the damn thing. Safe was not the word she would use to describe that particular invention.

A wave of exhaustion hit her and she worried that she might pass out while still on the communicator. With as much fierceness as she could manage, she said, "Promise me. You won't. Take me apart."

"_Alright. I'll be on my way." _

"Thank you." Then the communicator beeped, signaling the end of that conversation. If she'd had the strength to get up, she would have changed back into the uniform, but her arms were heavy and her legs were weak. Like when she was nineteen and had to suffer alone through a severe case of the flu.

She wasn't sure how long it had been before her door slid open, a single eye widening to see Scotty's red uniform. "Ya' look terrible, lass." He leaned over her on the bunk, pulling her up to wrap an arm under her shoulder. There was brief contact of his hand at the back of her neck, and she heard him exclaim. "You're burnin' up!" Now that he mentioned it, she realized she was pretty sweaty and his hand had felt cold.

They made it out the door, Scotty supporting her with his frame as they walked quickly to the turbolift. As they made the journey, Scotty filled her in on what was happening across the ship. "It started with a few headaches. Then some upset stomachs. Doc McCoy said it was the anomaly, but nothing too severe. Cept' you it seems."

Between tiny gulps to keep the nausea down, she said, "Have we left the anomaly?"

"We're working on it. It has a gravitational pull and we got caught in it before all this happened. The ship's moving away, but slowly. I'd estimate another day before we're out of range." 24 hours? She wasn't sure if she could survive another minute like this?

"How can an anomaly in space cause something like this?"

"Magnetic fields most likely." She felt him shrug beside her as he talked. "Since the human body has its own fields interference can create a whole list of symptoms."

"And we plan on checking out everything we come across?" She tried for incredulous, but instead her voice came out with a squeak.

"That's the plan. Though we record the data and in the future we know not to approach. Humans learn best by making a mess of things, don't ya' think?"

She just nodded, her vision going hazy and her mind blanking. It was okay though, because Scotty was pulling her into sickbay. She'd never expected the sight of Doctor McCoy to be a desired one, but the instant she saw his grumpy face she sighed in relief.

"Doctor... I think I'm sick." She could have sworn his eyes went wide, either from surprise at her statement or shock at her appearance. Probably the latter, because in the next instant her knees gave out and she fell to the floor.

**STARDATE 2260.024**

**Beta Quadrant**

_Ask and you shall receive. _His boredom had been wasn't an incapacitating illness that struck, but it was something. In a matter of hours after being caught in the anomaly's gravitational pull, the first crew member had reported to sickbay. McCoy didn't associate the two at first, a complaint of mild headaches and slight stomach pains nothing to get riled up about.

_Best nip whatever it was in the bud, though, _he had thought, giving his patient a suppressant and sending him off to his quarters for the day. By morning the ensign was sure to be fine. Another hour had passed with two more patients coming by. The thought of an epidemic crossed his mind as he saw patient number sixteen.

Still nothing serious symptom wise, but he wondered how long that would last. Patient twenty had to endure more testing. He called up an engineer to have him review the results. Their exploration of the anomaly needed to come to a halt, those final tests revealing what he had suspected.

Coincidence wasn't in his vocabulary.

Doctor McCoy sat at his terminal, sending a text only message to the captain, informing him of the situation. Jim's response had been short and to the point. _"We'll be out of range in 22 hours." _Why it would take so long, he wasn't sure.

Scotty was the damn engineer.

Then there was patient thirty-seven.

"Doctor!" That deeply accented voice drew his attention to the door, the one and only Scott Montgomery holding up the woman who'd occupied his mind one too many times as of late. She looked like hell, her hair haphazardly pinned up on top of her head, her eyes red and bloodshot. And what in god's name was she wearing?

Was that denim?

"Doctor. I think I'm sick." She would have been the last person he expected to come crawling, or be carried, into sickbay. The mere fact that she was voluntarily there sent him into a deer in the headlights state. Before he could compose himself and help Scotty, she promptly passed out.

And the sound of her hitting the floor sent him moving. He knelt next to Scotty, catching the opposite arm and tucking his own under her limp shoulder. He shot a glance at the engineer behind her back, asking, "How long has she been like this?"

"No idea. A few hours, I'd say. Since this whole illness started." They pulled her onto a biobed, McCoy already reaching for a tricorder before even releasing her. "Lass was in a bad state when I found her. Throwing up. Feverish."

At that information, McCoy placed a palm against her forehead. "It's critical."

"Where's your assistant?" Scotty looked around for the doctor's aide, a woman McCoy was sure he'd seen a few times around the ship.

"Doing house calls." McCoy answered without sparing the man a glance. His eyes were fixated on the control panel of the biobed, initiating a timer for a forcefield. "Step back." The engineer quickly complied as McCoy pressed a hypospray against Amelia's neck. _Got to get the fever down. _Just as he pulled back, the forcefield went up around the bed. In the contained space, the temperature began to drop.

"Come on." He urged, closely watching on as two sets of digits fell. The air inside the biobed, and her own corresponding body temperature. After a moment, he gave a ragged sigh of relief. It was far too early in their mission to lose someone. "Another half-hour and she'd have gone into shock."

It took just a few minutes to pull her from the danger zone, Scotty remaining for as long as he could before getting a comm to return to engineering. McCoy understood the man's urgency. It was now more important than ever for them to get the hell away from that anomaly.

That timed forcefield reached the end of it's cycle, dissipating with flickers of light. He ran a tricorder over the still form of Amelia Wright, giving a nod of approval. It had been a rough couple of minutes, charged with wondering why she was reacting more severely than any of the other patients.

A few tests should answer that question. McCoy unsnapped the bottom latches on the biobed, rolling it towards the examination terminal. He considered calling back Doctor Robinson and having her assist, but thought better of it. _She's dealing with the rest of the crew. _

Turning his attention back to Amelia, he moved several pieces of equipment above her. A full x-ray, a stasis scan, and a bio map. If he happened to fill in some of her medical gaps at the same time, so be it.

Initiating the exam, he sat at the terminal, watching as data populated the screen. Instead of answering his questions, more popped up in their place. "Regenerated ear drums? Surgical marks on her neck and vocal cords?" The X-ray revealed even more confusing results.

Pieces of metal were attached to three of her ribs, embedded in the bone to help with structural integrity. The bio scan dated the material to almost 15 years of age. She would have had them installed as a teenager.

Metallic implants hadn't even been used for over fifty years. What backwater doctor performed that kind of surgery when he could have just slowly regenerated the bone? He ran his hands under a sanitizing wand and made his way back over to her, his mind still mulling over the results.

Her odd shirt covered the area where the metal rested within her and he lifted it up to take a look at her lower right rib cage. The skin would have been flawless, but three two-inch pink lines ran horizontally across her external oblique. They were faded with age and he would have placed money on the fact that she rarely even noticed them now.

And why didn't they at least use a dermal regenerator? He pulled the shirt back down, his eyes narrowed in a silent fury at doctors he had never even met. Putting _metal_ in someone? They hadn't even bothered to remove the scarring.

He made notes of those questions in her file, then turned to continue reviewing the bio scan. A slow frown spread. Three months ago something traumatic happened to her. The other, more recent, surgical marks were also dated, this time the readings more accurate. Based on their precision and method he could easily make one assumption. Starfleet doctors had been the ones to perform on her.

_That doesn't tell you why she's sick now. _He told himself, attempting to get back on track. The bio scan gave a break-down of all her major systems, but it was also capable of a molecular scan. "The Xeno series." He muttered, as he rubbed a finger across his forehead. Of course it was the shots he had _forced_ her to take that threatened to kill her. God, if he even existed, was an ironic bastard.

His terminal began to beep, indicating that the final images had been stored into her medical file. At least now he had a full exam of her should anything else pop up. Slowly, he paced back to the biobed, stopping only when his hip touched the frame.

It was strange, seeing her in such as still state. The few times they had actually interacted, she had been... emotional. Defensive. Angry. Scared. Angry. And as he pondered over it, he slowly came to understand that he hadn't helped situations. With every clipped accusation, he'd forced her to be defensive. With every implied insult, he'd provoked her into anger. And he had made her react with fear.

That thin line where he protected the crew had become blurred when it came to the mysterious Amelia Wright. Because what had he done to protect her? Giving her a Xeno series that almost ended up killing her. Was what she was hiding _that_ important?

With an unsteady hand, he rubbed his jaw, still staring down at that head of blond hair. The questions weren't going to go away on their own, but he needed to make a decision and fast. Should he let the answers come on their own time? Or should he continue to push no matter what the consequences?

_Does any of that matter right now? _He asked himself. When the answer struck him, it wasn't a surprise. The woman's past didn't matter. All that concerned him was his patient's survival and recovery. Taking a deep calming breath, he composed a new set of hyposprays. A suppressant, a fever reducer, some pain reliever, and a mild sedative. Her body had worked hard to keep itself going and the medicinally induced rest would do wonders.

McCoy made no plans to wake her, but every ten minutes or so he found himself pacing back over to the biobed, rearranging equipment or running another tricorder scan. If the machines happened to be loud, or the tricorder continued to beep... it wasn't intentional.

Resting in his jacket pocket, his communicator wailed. With every ounce of self control he possessed, he kept himself from looking at the woman behind him. Managing to keep his voice soft and low, he answered the call. "Doctor McCoy."

"_Bones." _He hoped that Jim had good news. "_We're breaking the gravitation field. What's the status in sickbay?" _Last he had heard, they were twenty hours from that goal. How long had he been pacing around sickbay?

"Between me and Doctor Robinson we've seen 52 members of the crew. Only one is currently admitted into sickbay."

"_How bad?" _An irritated huff escaped McCoy. What was the point of sending Jim reports when he never _read_ any?

Summarizing what was in the three pages, he said, "She's unconscious, but stable. There were other factors, but it's under control."

"_Good. You give me a call if anything changes." _

He gave a nod to a man who couldn't even see him, but quickly voiced, "Will do."

"Scotty?" A weak female voice sounded behind him. He cast a glance at the communicator in his hand, shaking his head slightly. The conversation must have woke her, despite his added effort to keep his voice down.

He snatched the nearest tricorder, turning to face her. Some of her strength had returned, her small form propped up by an elbow. Her gaze was unfocused, her head facing the door. He swallowed heavily, following it up with a light, "Just me, I'm afraid." The speed at which she snapped around to look his way said she was getting better by the second. He approached slowly, not planning a repeat of their last encounter. "Lie down. You're still recovering."

As if on cue, whatever strength she had seemed to vanish, her back against the mat a moment later. "I am pretty tired." He gave a gentle nod, still moving with slow measured motions.

Usually he would opt for the tricorder, but, impulsively, he placed a palm against her forehead. She didn't shirk back. Instead, her eyes drifted closed and she gave a soft sigh. As if the touch was comforting. "You had a 40 degree temperature when you were brought in. And your immune system has taken a hard hit since it was occupied with the Xeno series."

Even with her eyes closed, he sensed her attention was on his voice, small physical responses occurring as he spoke. A tiny nod of her head, a crease in her brow. Her voice was small when she asked, "The anomaly?"

"That... combined with your Xeno series. You were the worst case we saw during the epidemic." One blue eye opened to stare up at him, a faint trust in that half gaze. It struck him that all he had done to earn it was save her life. _After putting it in danger. _

"How is everyone now?" Her concern for the rest of the crew was genuine, something they both shared. He found himself giving her a small smile. Or as much of one as he could muster. He pulled his hand away from her.

"Better." Since making distance from the anomaly sickbay had only one call every couple of hours.

"Good." A solid nod followed. She meant it.

McCoy paced back to the terminal, taking a seat in front of it. There were several other questions he needed to ask, notes to make against the x-ray and bio scans. Which meant he he had to tell her about the exams. Turning his head, he faced her for the quick confession. "While you were unconscious I performed a full bio scan."

"Find anything interesting?" Her voice was light, almost joking, but it was twinged with tiredness. She rotated her head to the side, her gaze focused on where he was stationed in front of the monitor. He knew she couldn't see the results, but there was no doubt that she was aware of what they were.

The corner of his mouth shifted into a half grin. "I'm sure you know the answer to that."

"I guess I do." A soft sigh echoed in the room, its meaning easy to interpret. Surrender. "So, Doc... what's the first question?"

Her blinks were getting longer, her breathing deeper. Maybe it was best to table the conversation until she'd fully recovered. He settled for putting the ball in her court. "Are you sure you're up to this?"

Another sigh. "No, but it was bound to happen sooner or later." She made her choice, rolling over to her side and squirming until her head rested on the crook of her elbow.

"Alright. What happened three months ago?"

"I was hit by a hovercar." And he had thought his summaries were short.

"What happened 15 years ago?"

"I was hit by a... hovercar."

"This seems to be a reoccurring event," he said with a small snort.

"Why do you think they put me on a spaceship?"

"No hovercars?" Just illness, planet destroying psychos, and maniacal augments.

A soft female chuckle filled the air, followed up with, "You got it. Good." She was making jokes about getting hit by hovercars? His eyes dropped to quickly check her temperature to see if her fever had returned, though with the medication she'd been given, that would have been next to impossible.

He frowned, finding nothing wrong with any of her major systems. Maybe she was just tired. "You need to rest. After that I might get a real answer."

"That was a real answer. 15 years ago my family and I were in a car accident. A... an intoxicated driver t-boned our car. Both of my parents were killed and I was in the hospital for two months. Five surgeries later I was released with nothing and no one to go home to. Nothing except a small one bedroom and an old four by seven greenhouse." The story flowed, smooth and practiced. He almost thought she was lying, but even from across the room he could see her eyes going glassy. She didn't shed any tears, though and he realized that she had told it so many times that there were just no more tears left.

She continued, the edges of her mouth falling down into grim lines. "There's no secret story to tell you, McCoy. Just a sad one. Who really wants to carry that around in a personal file for everyone else to see?"

"And three months ago?" He pressed for more. "What's the story there?"

"I was unwillingly transported onto the Starfleet shipyard in Denver. I ended up on a highway where I was hit by a hovercar. The doctors there fixed me up before Starfleet started interrogated me. They wanted to know how I had bypassed their security fields. Who I was... working with. I had no idea what had happened. I guess there was still tension from the terrorist attack in San Fransisco, but I ended up a target on someone's radar. I made a few friends and one of them got me on board the Enterprise. They said I would be safe here." Safe? On the Enterprise? Her friend must not have not seen the news in the last two years.

He recalled the name of her escort when she boarded, and the pieces started to fall into place. "Captain O'Shea."

"His son, actually. Commander O'Shea." Her eyes drifted closed, remaining that way. For a second, he thought she had gone to sleep, but then she spoke up once more. "So... here I am." _Here you are. _

He made more notes against the bio scan, filling in some background concerning the metal in her ribs and the surgical scars in her neck. He didn't put the full story, just enough facts to be able to recall what she had told him.

About ten minutes later, he heard her ask. "McCoy... Do you think I could get some water?" Without hesitation, he made his way to the replicator. By the time he had a cold glass in his hand and was standing by the biobed, her eyes had already closed and her breathing was steady. The conversation had drained her.

Setting the glass down by the biobed, he gave her a once over. He hadn't gotten to ask about her unusual choice of clothing, or discuss the fact that they'd finally come to some sort of understanding. McCoy's curiosity wasn't fully appeased, lingering doubt and suspicion in the back of his mind, but it was a start.

And as far as her medical record was concerned he had all he _needed_.

That mysterious veil that had surrounded Amelia Wright had diminished now, just a thin layer. But it was hers and it no longer intruded on anyone else.

He slept in sickbay for the first time since being on board, unlatching the unfamiliar bunk. She didn't wake through the entire four hours that he dozed. And in another six hours they were so far from the anomaly that none of the crew came in for suppressants.

With the help of a mild sedative, she remained unconscious for almost an entire day, her body fully recovered from the toll it had taken just to keep her stable. Scotty stopped by to check on her and McCoy realized they must have formed quite the friendship.

Th'eon brought him two packed meals, one specifically for Amelia that came with a warning of _touch it and die _and one for McCoy for taking care of the chef's gossip buddy.

Was he the only one who had harbored any negative feelings against this woman? Before the Andorian was able to leave, McCoy asked him, "What is it about her?"

Th'eon shot him a knowing smile and for a moment, McCoy thought he didn't plan on answering. Finally, he said, "She's life, doctor. She finds a way wherever she can. And if a way isn't available, she forces one into existence. She knows so little yet here I am, the man who knows so much, drawn to tell her everything. She's managed to recreate the planet Vulcan in that hydroponics bay. She's tracked down thieves and now knows how to make roses glow in the dark. Did you know that Amelia can tell the mood of plants?"

He shook his head at Th'eon's question and then realized how fitting the comparison really was. She had forced herself to survive. When disaster had taken from her, she had flourished. That greenhouse she'd mentioned must have been her release, and the reason she eventually went to Phoenix to pursue that degree in Horticultural studies. And then Starfleet had taken her once more from the life she had known and thrust her on board the Enterprise.

The question that came next was weak, the driving force behind his curiosity fading. "No one thinks she's hiding anything?"

"Oh... she's hiding something, alright. But does it really matter? We can't know all of life's secrets."


	9. Chapter 9

**STARDATE 2260.061**

**Beta Quadrant**

The tomatoes were the first to ripen. Eight months cut down to two with the help of the maturation modifier. Amelia gently cradled the red baseball sized vegetable, careful not to break it from the stem. It would be ready to pluck within the week. She looked behind her to where the cucumbers rested under a large glass case. If she extended their time under the modifier, they would make it before the squash.

A few of the leafy vegetables in the Vulcan environment _looked_ like they were ready, but she needed a second opinion on that. Maybe if she called the captain, she could see if he would spare his First Officer for a few minutes. He was the only Vulcan she even knew of on board.

She let go of the tomato, standing to look around the flourishing hydroponics bay, a place she constantly compared to the green house. Time seemed to fly lately. After the incident with the anomaly two months before, there was one thing after another to explore. An uninhabitable class H planet, an asteroid belt, and a dying star.

Every now and then, Amelia would make her way to the observation deck to see twinkling lights upon more twinkling lights. She was never able to stay for too long. It made her think of the ocean, so overwhelmingly large that one could get dizzy thinking of the distance of just... nothingness. It also

had the disturbing tendency to remind someone of how small they were in the universe.

But it was nice to look at once in a while. She gave a silent thanks to Richard for making her introduction to this time a little easier to bear.

The captain's latest announcement was their slow approach to a class M planet. Th'eon had informed her that Earth was considered a class M, which meant that not only could life could be supported, but human life as well. It was far more exciting than the asteroid belt and the crew seemed charged with anticipation.

Even Amelia found herself looking forward to this new world they intended to explore.

The doors to the bay opened, and she turned to see Lieutenant Mark Dualla standing at the entrance. "You're early." She noted with a smile, urging him over to where she stood. "Come see the tomatoes!"

When he looked down at the vines, his eyes widened just a little. She remembered the sight having a similar effect on herself. "Wow. They weren't even grape size last time I saw them."

"I know. I think I'll take a couple to Th'eon." There weren't any that were _fully_ ready, but they'd be good for salad toppings. Or maybe even a salsa. If she could track down some jars, she'd even consider pickling some. She briefly wondered if people still enjoyed pickled tomatoes. Her eyes darted back and forth, searching for the largest three.

When she plucked them from their stems, Mark piped up as he gazed at their size, "Showing off?"

"Just a little." She grinned, walking over to the table at the front of the bay. The day before she'd started preparing containers with labels, a simple task fueled by optimism. She set the tomatoes in their box and snapped it shut. Looking over her shoulder, she sent Mark another smile. "Thanks for helping me with the modifier."

He palmed the back of his neck, giving her a mild shrug. "Figured I could make up for taking it."

"Well, I'm going to head to the dining hall. You're free to stay in the bay and check things out." She clutched the box of tomatoes and shot him a quick glance that said, _don't do anything I wouldn't do. _ Hopefully he wouldn't go rearranging the water systems again. For him the hydroponics bay was one scientific study after another.

"Will do. I've been reading up on those Vulcan vegetables. I think I'll take some readings." Already, he had snagged the tricorder from it's holster near the bay doors. At least readings were harmless, she thought as she started towards the turbolift.

When she made it to the dining hall, Th'eon was nowhere to be seen. The lunch rush had passed, which meant he was either loitering around the dining hall, pestering patrons for information, or in the back of the kitchen enjoying his own meal.

Walking towards the other end of the room, she spotted him at one of the far tables. There were only select crew members who could coerce the chef into taking a seat and chatting. None other than Captain Kirk had engaged him. The captain was leaning in to tell him something, while Doctor McCoy, his usual lunch partner, tilted his head back and looked up at the ceiling. Either he was stretching or rolling his eyes, she couldn't really tell for sure, their conversation to low for her to hear.

Not that it was any of her business. She peeled her eyes way from them and headed back into the kitchen to wait for Th'eon to return. Depending on what was transpiring at the far end of the dining hall, she knew she might be waiting for a while.

Almost twenty minutes later, after she'd helped herself to the daily special soup, the Andorian made his way past the refrigeration unit to where she sat at his desk. "You should have sat down with us." He tsked, staring down at her. His gaze drifted over to the box in her lap. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Do you think it's tomatoes?" She asked with a grin.

"Yes." His antenna wiggled with satisfaction. Then he went on to give her a smug glare. "You've been talking about them for days."

"Then you'd be right." She passed him the container, watching with a smile as he opened it.

"I can see they have been well loved in the hydroponics bay. Very nice coloring." Those antenna curled inward and she braced herself for some outlandish idea. "If these somehow went missing, do you think anyone would care?" Well... maybe not so outlandish.

"Go get the salt." Amelia felt a little entitled to a reward, and in a few days they would have enough to harvest to share with the crew. Th'eon came back with a small shaker, a plate, and a knife. In the end they only ate two of the tomatoes.

Satisfied with the results of the past few months, she relaxed against Th'eon's desk, the Andorian pulling up a chair to sit across from her. There was a pause, before he started talking, information she was sure he had been holding in ever since he'd come into the kitchen.

"So, while you were waiting for me to return, I received the most incredible news." As usual, he carried a smug expression on his face, one that said he knew it all and was only willing to share at a price. If he wasn't so charming, she would have found him insufferable.

Feeling pressured into prodding him on, she said, "Well, don't keep it to yourself."

"If you insist and only because you brought a treat." He picked up the last tomato on the desk, his attention alternating between her and the red vegetable. "Captain Kirk said that we have reached the solar system with the Class M planet and we'll be in range for transport within six hours."

By itself, it was good news. The crew always seemed to perform better when they came across something new to explore. "That's exciting."

"Oh, there's more." The Andorian grinned, and she wasn't certain if that meant more good news or trouble. It was usually 50-50 odds. "They've done preliminary review of the planet's atmosphere and organic potential. It appears that the planet is covered in plant-life and only inhabited on the southern hemisphere. Conveniently, it only has two landmasses with are divided by an equatorial ocean. They plan on sending an away team to collect samples."

"Someone's going planet-side?" This would be a first. The last planet they had come across was far too hostile for anyone to _beam_ down. They had only been authorized to observe and record data on the newly numbered planet. Planet-side exploration seemed to be the primary mission of Starfleet. New worlds. New civilizations.

"Not just anyone." His head snapped quickly to stare at her and she felt a building dread... and excitement at what he was going to say next. That focused attention meant it had something to do with her personally. "You will be going. As the Enterprise's resident _horticulturist_ you will join a science officer as she examines the plant life."

She'd kind of been expecting him to say that she would just get samples sent to the hydroponics bay. Maybe even something edible. But this? She shook her head. _He must be joking. _But he was grinning and it wasn't in a humorous 'ha, I got you' way. "You can't be serious."

"Oh, but I am. I'm sure you'll receive a call to report to the ready room within a couple of hours." The ready room? She'd only seen senior staff be authorized into the ready room. Then again, they held meetings between all the lead divisions in the ready room.

She tried to mentally picture an alien planet, but found herself just picturing unique parts of Earth. The Grand Canyon. The Amazon. The Pyramids of Giza. "I can't go down to some strange unknown planet. I wouldn't know if something is a tree or an alien. Wouldn't that be a.. uh... a xeno-horticulturist's job? And don't they _transport_ the away team?" Either her arguments seemed silly, or Th'eon was just too invested in this to care about her points.

He continued to smile. "They're collecting samples, which means they'll be sending a shuttle. And, technically, everything alive on this planet is _alien_. I just thought that I would tell you, so you could... prep. Which, I need to start doing for dinner service."

"You're kicking me out?" Her eyes went wide with disbelief. Th'eon was supposed to be there to support her. Like a therapist.

"Honestly, yes."

He snatched up the last tomato before she had a chance to take it with her, and then shooed her from the kitchen. He waved at her from across the serving line and she scowled his way before heading out of the dining hall.

"He can't have been serious." She told herself while standing in the moving turbolift. But then she considered everything he had told her. He was _very _serious. And his comment about her needing time to prep suddenly rang loud in her mind.

The turbolift came to a stop, but she didn't make her way to the hydroponics bay. Instead, she quickly said, "Deck 4." The turbolift began to move once more.

Her room was tidy as always, her data padd resting on the desk, along with her mother's gardening tools, her drivers license, and that framed photo of her and Richard. The locker on the far end of the room was her first stop. She needed the backpack. She'd never gone anywhere without it and if they truly intended on sending her down to the planet she intended on taking it with her.

She dumped out the contents. Useless money, her one set of _vintage_ clothes. A cassette tape. Receipts. And a small first aid kit. The last item had come in handy once in a while, a half empty box of band-aids proof of that.

In a way, that first aid kit was the main reason she found herself on the Enterprise. Her hand went to the locker, an attempt to steady herself. _"Best thing you have in that kit is an ace bandage, 'Melia." _It wasn't quite a flash-back, just an isolated moment in time that she could remember so clearly that longing for home soon followed.

Her gaze went to the floor of her room, stray paper and items littered across the carpet. Most of the people on the ship wouldn't even be able to identify what they were. And they expected her to identify things from _their _world? The first time she'd used a replicator, she'd damn near fainted...

_This is your world now. You have worked to hard forcing yourself into it. You can't back out now. _She could use a tricorder. A data padd. The replicator. She was on a ship traveling at speeds faster than light. If she could survive this, she could do anything.

She stayed in her room, picking up all the items from the floor and neatly arranging them on the small shelves in her locker. Her past, just a cluster of memories and trinkets, sat on the top shelf. While her future hung neatly below. A set of four white uniforms and one brown one.

Maybe after she returned, she'd take some time to complete a few more logs. Her way of preserving that life in something more timeless than memories.

_**Crew-member Amelia Wright, please report to the ready room on Deck 1.**_ A computerized female voice sounded in her quarters and she grabbed the backpack, the black strap standing out against her white uniform. Amelia took a moment to straighten her belt, her communicator and tricorder holstered on the sides.

She wasn't too worried about being unprepared, the meeting in the ready room probably designed to set her up for success. But she was nervous. She would be the only person from her time to ever set foot on an alien planet. _You're also the only one who has traveled through time. _Lots of firsts to be had...

Deck 1 wasn't very large, consisting of mainly the bridge, the captain's quarters, and the ready room. It wasn't too hard to find, especially when the bridge doors wouldn't open for her, limiting her to only two other options.

When she stepped inside door number two, her eyes scanned the large round room, taking in the massive observation window that allowed a clear view of space. An oval table took up a majority of the room, the chairs turned to face a decently sized view-screen. Aside from the visible twinkling stars outside, she could almost imagine this setting in a corporate office, its design regal yet functional.

There were five other people already spread out around the room. Captain Kirk, who was standing next to the first officer. The man was easy to identify, his eyebrows straight diagonal lines and his ears pointed. Vulcan traits were surprisingly easy to accept, the rest of their appearance much like a human's. Doctor McCoy sat at the table, a silver case resting in front of him. Amelia had come to learn that the case was usually filled with hyposprays.

Of course, when did McCoy _not_ have a hypospray nearby?

A male ensign in a red shirt also sat at the table, looking as nervous as she felt. And then there was a female in a dress, her long hair in a high pony tail. Th'eon had once referred to her as Uhura, the communications officer.

As she approached the table, all eyes turned her way. The captain was the first to speak up, his tone light and relaxed. "Welcome, Miss Wright. Take a seat. We'll be starting the brief soon."

She picked the open chair next to the doctor. Since her near death experience two months ago, they had been on... decent terms. No more narrowed glares followed by grunts and no more accusations or insults. Then again, he wasn't overly _nice _either, but that distanced attitude seemed to suit him and she wasn't the only person on the receiving end.

Which made it quite a surprise when Doctor McCoy leaned over in his chair towards her. He wasn't grinning or smiling, but his brow lifted when he pointed to the young man in the red shirt. "Kid looks like he's about to have an aneurysm."

Amelia turned to glance at the anxious male, sweat beading on his brow, his hand tapping against the table. The vibe he was giving off was almost contagious. "Why is he so nervous?"

"First time on an alien planet. Not that Pointy Ears helped." Pointy Ears? Automatically, she shifted to glance at the first officer. That was a rather... accurate nickname. "The Vulcan told him the priority order for emergency transport."

"Priority order?"

"Each member of the away team is given a priority for who to beam out first. Pretty sure the kid is last on the list." _That's odd. _She briefly wondered how she'd trumped the young ensign...

Still a little confused, she stated, "can't you _beam_ more than one person at a time."

"Usually." He didn't expand any further, leaning back in his chair and giving a shrug. He didn't seem overly interested in this briefing, giving the occasional sigh of impatience.

When he started to tap his fingers against the table, she asked, "Are you going? To the planet, I mean?"

Shaking his head, he replied, "No. We've already got Jim and Spock on the away team. Best not to tempt fate and send the chief medical officer too."

Was he implying that this was dangerous enough that senior personnel would get injured? Or worse, killed? Imparting some of that concern into her voice, she raised a brow and asked, "Should we be worried?"

"You'll have them." He gave a sluggish wave in the direction of Captain Kirk and First Officer Spock. "Jim wouldn't stand to lose a pretty girl on any mission." Her brow shot up as his implication. Did _he_ consider her a 'pretty girl'?

Just as the captain finished his conversation, the first officer headed her way. He stopped when he reached her chair, looking down at her. Feeling the urge to stand, she complied, still having to tilt her head back to see his face.

"Hello, Miss Wright. I am Commander Spock." She didn't try to shake his hand, recalling her first time meeting a Vulcan and learning that they were _touch_ _telepaths. _If she could only remember how to form her hand into their special wave. Instead she just gave him a nod.

"Hello, Commander Spock."

"I have a transporter locator for you." He opened his closed fist to show her a small metal pin, formed into the shape of the Starfleet insignia. "Should an emergency occur, this will be our best way to detect your precise location." She remained still as he leaned over to handle the collar of her white uniform, snapping the pin into place.

"Everyone keeps mentioning an emergency..."

"What is it that humans say? Hope for the best, prepare for the worst." And they said Vulcan's didn't have a sense of humor...

Spock took an empty seat across the table, the captain soon setting down beside him. Within moments, another person walked into the room. The newcomer, a woman, wore glasses and a blue uniform similar to Doctor McCoy's, but its design was far more flattering with it's feminine curves. Her brown hair was pulled back into a bun and her brown eyes were keenly observant as they crossed over everyone in the room.

Amelia had to rotate her chair away from Doctor McCoy to face the woman standing at the head of the table. Spock was the first to greet her. "Hello, Lieutenant Commander."

Behind Amelia, McCoy leaned in to whisper. "Jenna's a biologist. A damn good one too." She tilted her head to shoot him a grateful smile. And when he shot one back, she knew her eyes widened just a little in surprise. "Someone's got to fill you in." McCoy explained.

Before she could thank him, the view-screen came on, a large photo of the planet suddenly displayed behind the lieutenant commander. Th'eon's description of the planet was accurate enough, two large continents covering most of the surface, a familiar blue separating them. The equatorial ocean.

_Jenna_ pointed to the southern continent first. "We've determined that there is a large humanoid population that is spread across the lower hemisphere of the planet. All of our readings indicate they are in a pre-industrial state. They are advanced as far as agriculture goes, but there has been no indication of any technological advancement." She continued to break down what was known about the alien society and Amelia was reminded of Native Americans. Tribal, yet no longer nomadic.

That part of the briefing ended with, "It is imperative that we do not make contact." Richard had once explained the concept of 'The Prime Directive' though Amelia had never needed to comprehend it until now. They weren't allowed to interfere with a society's development.

Which is why the briefing had been so extensive on the humanoids that lived on the planet. Starfleet couldn't interact, yet wanted to know everything. _How does that even work?_

"The northern hemisphere, however, has no humanoid population." Amelia looked back and forth between the two continents. Where one lacked an expanse of green, the other made up for it. "It is extremely dense vegetation. There were two potential landing sites, both located near the shore-line. The primary objective of the away mission is to collect samples of the plant life. If possible we can determine if any can be cultivated in the hydroponics bay." At Jenna's last statement, Amelia straightened in her seat.

They intended on transferring plants from an alien planet into the hydroponics bay? Amelia found herself speaking, words coming faster than thought, "For all we know, foreign plants could end up killing everything in that bay. Months of work could be lost just by bringing a sample into the room." McCoy cleared his throat. Spock raised a brow. And the Captain just smiled. Had she just violated some kind of protocol by interrupting? Or had they simply not been expecting her to say anything?

The 'damn good biologist', as McCoy had put it, gave Amelia a quick nod. "We understand. Everything we bring back will undergo complete testing. The end goal, however, is seeing if it can be grown on Earth." Her tone wasn't condescending, but it still sounded as though she were talking to Amelia like she was a child.

This time, Amelia kept silent, even as scenario after scenario of disaster ran through her mind. After the break down of the northern hemisphere, the lieutenant commander went on to discuss the atmosphere and its stability. It was about the point where Amelia lost focus, still stuck on their crazy idea to put samples in the hydroponics bay.

She hadn't worked to have fully grown tomatoes just so some alien grass could infect them all.

"Good brief. So, we'll be ready to go in three hours?" Captain Kirk's words brought her back to the present, his eyes darting around the room to land on each person present.

Spock was the first to respond. "Three hours is sufficient. I will have a shuttle prepared." The Vulcan's sharp gaze landed just behind Amelia where McCoy sat. "Doctor McCoy?"

She rotated her chair, watching as the doctor stood and started to unlatch the silver case. "Guess that's my cue." He said, pulling out a hypospray. Captain Kirk groaned, but didn't hesitate to be the first to get out of his chair and expose his arm. "Everyone line up for boosters."

Amelia had to stand, suddenly feeling crowded as everyone approached McCoy. The captain, in his usual charm, shot her a grin as he jerked a thumb at the doctor. "This is his favorite part."

"Yes, Jim. I just love listening to everyone moan about how I'm the bad guy who sticks them. And to top it off, no one thanks me when they don't die of a xeno-cold." McCoy took hold of Kirk's arm, not particularly gentle as he stuck him in the crook of the elbow with the hypospray.

Jerking his sleeve back down, Kirk said over his shoulder. "Ah, Bones, I didn't know you needed the validation." McCoy just huffed in response.

The rest of the away team received their shots without comment and when it was her turn, McCoy gently gripped her wrist. It was fleeting, but she could sense hesitancy. He waited before pressing the hypospray against the crook of her elbow and there was another pause before the injection. "I'm only gonna say this once. You have a bad reaction to this and you're restricted to sickbay for the rest of this mission."

She wasn't sure if he was prompted by guilt to say that, or if he was just making light of what had happened with her Xeno series. When he released her, she found his hazel gaze focused on her. She could almost swear she saw concern in that stare. "Worried about me?"

Then he averted his gaze, saying in a low gruff tone, "You're accident prone. Let's just say I'm being cautious."

"Well thanks." Then she added, "for making sure I don't die of a xeno-cold."

**STARDATE 2260.061**

**Beta Quadrant**

Why was it that he was always left being the voice of reason? It made him seem like a nagging hen. But that didn't stop him as he tugged on his friend's sleeve, stopping their slow paced walk to the dining hall and gently forcing Kirk to face him. "It's a bad idea, Jim."

Jim rolled his eyes at McCoy's statement, the display of annoyance followed with the standard brush-off, "Everything is a bad idea to you."

"There's a reason why regulation states who can join who on an away mission. It's not diplomatic. There's no need for both you and Spock to go together." _Might as well go and shove every critical member of the crew and send them down to the planet. _Even though he hated to admit it, this mision couldn't go on without Kirk and Spock.

"It's the first planet we've come across! You think I'm going to stay cooped up here while Spock gets to run around on the surface? And you know how irritating he gets when he hasn't been exposed to sunlight." Jim's voice dropped, his tone empty as he mocked the vulcan. "Fascinating. Humans. Illogical." A second later, he resumed his normal voice. "I am days away from strangling him."

He released Jim's sleeve and they resumed their leisured pace. "At least tell me you're taking someone with a lick of sense."

"Who do you think I am, Bones? I've got it all worked out." Like that comment didn't raise a few flags. When did Captain James T. Kirk ever plan ahead?

"Who are you taking?"

"Jenna Carver and Amelia Wright." The name, as always, conjured a perfect mental image of the blond haired, blue eyed woman. No matter how often he'd fought against thinking about Amelia, outside influence forced it upon him. She'd be in the chow hall and Jim would point her out. He'd be in sickbay and he'd just so happen to come across her name on one manifest or another.

This time, the tug on Jim's sleeve wasn't gentle. "Are you out of your _mind_?"

"You know, I'm beginning to think you have some kind of problem with Miss Wright." His friend was intentionally trying to piss him off. Jim looked unconcerned, but it was false bravado. McCoy knew him too well to miss the small hints. The way Jim would carefully watch his changing expressions, the way he gave a small smug smile when McCoy flustered with anger.

"She's a distraction."

"To who, Bones?"

"You. You're constantly telling me when she comes into the room. Every time you go to the hydroponics bay I have to listen for an hour about how she _spurned_ your advances. And now you're having her go with you on an away mission." Knowing Jim, he'd be stuck staring at Amelia the entire time and wouldn't get _anything_ done. Or worse, get himself killed.

"When she comes into the room the only reason I point her out is because _you're_ staring at her! When I talk about her you get weird and it's fun to watch! Just by saying her name you seem to lose control." Kirk gave a pointed stare down where McCoy still gripped his uniform. "Now, seriously, what is your problem with her?"

"She's..." _A liar? _That wasn't necessarily true and he didn't have any proof of it. _Hiding something? _That was obvious and didn't seem to be something that was going to change. _Attractive? _Undeniable, but that was hardly a problem.

Or maybe it was the problem. The first time he'd walked into that hydroponics bay he'd been thrown off guard, not expecting her to look at him with doe eyes all wide and startled. He hadn't expected any verbal fight that day either. Amelia Wright was a contradiction to everything he knew about women. She was intelligent, but she wasn't manipulative. She was attractive, but she hadn't used that to her advantage. She was hiding something, but that didn't seem to stop others from gravitating towards her.

Everyone was so damn enamored with her. Including himself.

Jim jerked his arm out of McCoy's grasp, his sigh impatient and McCoy simply glared at him, telling him without words how this conversation was _his _fault. "Get it under grips, Bones. She's here to stay and I'm taking her with me to that planet. Between her knowledge of horticulture and Jenna's biology expertise, I might end up with a passable botanist. Which I _need_ for this away mission."

So much was bound to go wrong. There were the boosters every away team had to receive, and so far Amelia didn't have much luck when it came to shots. There was the fact that the two most senior personnel on the ship planned on going _together_. And then there was the simple fact that Amelia had only recently left Earth. "She's never been to another planet before! How useful do you think she'll be?"

"That's unfair. And you know it." It was. How many members of Starfleet proved to be invaluable, even when they'd never stepped foot off of Earth? Too many for McCoy to name. The building shame within him was foreign and if it showed on his face, Jim didn't point it out. Instead, he straightened his back and gave him a sideways glare that was rarely sent his way. The one that reminded McCoy that Jim was a Captain. "Get used to the fact that she's coming with us. She'll be part of the away team briefing and you could try to grant her just a touch of kindness. She'll be nervous enough without you jumping down her throat."

At least his friend had the mindset not to bring her up again. Not until the _Andorian_ joined them at the table. McCoy rolled his eyes and tried to ignore Jim as he excitedly told Chef all about the planet and the pending away mission.

Partially through their conversation, McCoy's head drifted to the side, catching the sight of blond hair heading into the kitchen. There was no mistaking that backside as anyone other than Amelia Wright. Jim had been right about one thing. She did have a tendency to capture his eye. Without even trying.

"That sounds quite amazing. I wish your away team the best of luck." _Thank God. He's leaving. _McCoy straightened in his chair as the Andorian stood from his own, his antenna doing that creepy curling. Why did that simple response always set him on edge?

As he watched the chef head back to the kitchen, Jim tapped him against the arm. "At least Amelia will get a heads up about the mission."

His eyes widened, an irritated huff escaping him as he growled out, "Is that what this was about? Twenty minutes of talking to the blue guy could have been one? Next time just say, 'And tell your little blond friend that she's going with us.' ".

"Remember what I said about being _kind. _You should really work on that." Jim was grinning as he pointed at the table and McCoy looked down at the half empty plate before him. "Also, the moment his little blond friend walked into the room, you stopped eating."

"Damn it." He muttered as he began to follow Jim out of the dining hall. He managed to keep himself from glancing across the serving line, where he knew Amelia would be deep in conversation with the Andorian.

And later he managed not to think about her when he packed up a full set of boosters. His mind was blank as he made his way to the ready room. Uhura was already seated. Jim and Spock were pestering one another. The assigned ensign from engineering eventually wandered into the room.

The call was made for the remaining members of the away team and McCoy found himself mentally repeating a mantra of, _be nice, be kind, and don't stick your foot in your mouth._

When Amelia Wright stepped into the room, all eyes turned her way. Some surprised that she was even there, and some, like himself, already prepped for her arrival. Of all the places she could have chosen to take a seat at, she picked the chair beside his own.

_It starts here. _Maybe she'd not take up so much space in his mind if he actually had a conversation with her once in a while. He saw a brief flash of surprise pass across her face when he pointed out the young ensign. And then when he introduced the biologist he realized why everyone so quickly fell for the woman.

Because when she smiled at him, he felt a little less like a jackass.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **I feel terrible. This is my last completed chapter and I'm still working to finish chapter 11. Hit a horrid writer's block, but I've finally passed through it. I should finish chapter 11 tonight and start 12 tomorrow so next Friday I should have one ready to post. I usually like to have a few done in advance so we'll see how it goes. Thank you all for the reviews, follows, and favorites. They really keep me going!

* * *

**STARDATE 2260.061**

**Orbiting Planet MBY004**

**Beta Quadrant**

Amelia fought rising nerves as she strapped herself into her seat. Jenna Carver, the biologist, sat across from her, seeming far more at ease with the situation than Amelia could ever hope to be. Though they had a rocky start in the ready room, an hour of sitting around discussing the plant life on the planet was enough proof that the woman was... as McCoy had put it, damn good.

Though Jenna didn't have the know-how when it came to horticulture, she understood _life_. Plant life, human life, animal life. What makes it thrive and what makes it die. What makes it sick and what heals it.

The lieutenant commander had graduated in the top ten of her class and later went on to join Starfleet when the civilian world just didn't have the amount of adventure she was looking for. Jenna was driven, wanting to be there for the next first contact. Wanting to be there to record every aspect of newest member to the federation. The Enterprise's five year mission had been a pull she couldn't resist.

After latching the final strap, Amelia glanced around the shuttle. It wasn't spacious, just a foot of space resting between her feet and Jenna's, but she wasn't cramped against the ensign either. Even still, she found herself inching to put a few more inches between herself and the sweating young man. At the back end of the shuttle were stacked containers, meant to hold the samples they intended to collect. Somewhere shoved between them was Amelia's empty backpack.

And a small narrow opening on the other side led to where the captain and the first officer sat as pilot and co-pilot. It reminded her of a van with no back windows and with far less standing room.

When Jenna finished buckling her own 'seat belt', Amelia managed to catch her attention. "How long do you think it will take to reach the planet?" The actual transport hadn't been covered in the brief, the captain eager to take the flight into his own hands.

Jenna, being far more familiar with this sort of mission, was quick to calculate the time. "Twenty minutes or so. It would be faster if it was uninhabited, but we have to travel in the stratosphere a little longer to avoid detection."

Detection? Amelia's head tilted to the side, her confusion obvious. "You said they weren't advanced. Technology wise, anyway."

"They aren't, but we can still be seen by the naked eye. Best to go with the planet's rotation and do a slow descend to the landing site." Though she didn't fully understand how that worked, Amelia nodded anyway.

She opened her mouth to ask about how long they planned on being on the surface, but voices from the front of the shuttle stopped her short. "You guys strapped in?" She couldn't see Jim, but she couldn't miss the excitement in his voice. There was no doubt that he was smiling.

One response of _yep _and two simultaneous calls of _yes, sir_ was all that was needed for the shuttle to come to life. In a way, Amelia was glad she didn't have a direct view to outside, that added visual might be all that was needed for that nervous flutter in her stomach to explode into hyperventilation.

It was hard enough to stay calm as she felt the tilt and row of the space craft. The ensign was shaking beside her, but remained quiet. Jenna looked passive, almost bored. One of the pilots was probably stoked, while the other was busy calculating every probable scenario they could face.

Amelia looked over at the ensign, glad that his part was to just make sure the shuttle would get them back. If he had been assigned as security she might not have even shown up for the away mission.

For a good ten minutes the inside of the shuttle was lit only by the interior lights, but when the shuttle started to shake and they entered the atmosphere, the lighting inside was almost unnecessary. Sunlight poured in through the front window, and for a moment Amelia hoped that the captain wasn't blinded by the sudden brightness.

Kirk announced their descent, and Amelia leaned forward against her straps, struggling to see through the passage where the pilots were seated. The nose of the shuttle dipped, but she didn't jerk back against the seat. Instead she pulled forward just a touch more and caught sight of an expanse of blue through the windshield.

"It's beautiful." She whispered, surprised by how much it resembled Earth. Green, blue, and beige joined together to create the shore-line. When they moved closer, she could see the sandy beach shifting. No... it wasn't moving. Water lapped onto land, creating the illusion of shifting sand.

"Isn't it." Jenna had also moved forward, but her gaze was higher. Amelia followed it towards a wall of green. It wasn't just a forest. It was a jungle, so dense that she was certain the trees didn't allow much light to pass through. At least they had the foresight to plan for almost anything, including packing enough flashlights to get through the area.

"I think I'm going to be sick." The ensign muttered beside her, and once more Amelia found herself inching away.

"You'll be fine." Her words contradicted the paleness of his face.

From up front, they heard Kirk's voice calling out, "Brace for landing!"

This time, Amelia did tuck back against her seat, shooting a glance at Jenna. "I thought shuttles were a smooth ride?"

Jenna just smiled, seeming excited by the whole experience. "Usually, but since we're landing on the beach, it'll be a little rocky."

Amelia's idea of turbulence was far different than everyone else's. She had expected something akin to a plane passing through the clouds. The shuttle just vibrated, rowed forward, and then settled down. She'd experienced worse shakes on a kid's train ride at the fair. "Nothing to it." She muttered, shooting a glare at Kirk as he popped his head into the passage way. The man was grinning, as usual.

"Just making sure you were paying attention." He said with a wink.

Everyone was quick to release their straps and get to work. The ensign was to remain with the shuttle at all times, while she and Kirk would take the lead as far as exploration. Jenna and Spock were set to be the recorders, and both seemed quite pleased with the assignment.

The side doors of the shuttle pressed out before sliding back, revealing the brand new world they intended to explore. Amelia put a flat hand above her forehead, blocking out the brightness to see into the distance.

They had been right about the landing sites being few and far between. There was only twenty yards or so between the water and the jungle, the narrow line of sand just enough space for them to unload the containers.

Amelia snagged her backpack and shoved a few of the smaller boxes inside. As an afterthought, she packed up two of the sealed bags of water before pulling the strap across her shoulder.

Several times, the first officer was forced to reign in the captain, reminding him of all the tasks they had to complete before even entering into the wooded area. Amelia shared Kirk's anticipation. Between setting another box on the ground and pacing back to the shuttle, she found herself glancing at the dark green wall.

Trees, vines, bushes, and flowers were stacked closely together. If they wanted, they wouldn't even need to enter the area, a variety of prime samples lined up against the sand. Of course, the best soil readings would come from deep inside. If the large tree trunks, gigantic leaves, and thick stems of the flowers were any indication, they were receiving their fair share of nutrients.

Another thought suddenly came to mind and Amelia jogged over to where the lieutenant commander was fiddling with her tricorder. "Hey. Did they find anything concerning animal life?"

"Not in this area. About fifty kilometers to the west there was indication of herd animals, but we try to keep the first visit devoted to plant life. And we've set it far enough away that we won't interfere with the wildlife's habitation or grazing area. If we can make it back then we'll push for animal study." Jenna's explanation was concise, but effective. It made sense to conduct exploration in stages. Plant life. Animal life. And if possible, civilizations.

"Is it strange that there's such a large area without animals?"

Jenna gave her a small smile and shrugged, reminding Amelia of one very important fact. "It _is_ an alien planet. What is strange to us may be normal for this environment."

Jenna's eyes darted to something behind Amelia and she turned her head just in time to see Kirk and Spock walking their way. Spock was the first to speak up, both his expression and voice blank. "We have finished unloading all the necessary equipment. As the captain is slowly losing patience, I recommend you both calibrate your tricorders and prepare to gather samples."

He shifted in the sand to stand in front of Amelia. "Miss Wright, please maintain a close perimeter to the captain. As you are not assigned a phaser, he will be tasked with ensuring you return safely to the shuttle." It was a wonder that the first officer was able to inspire any confidence at all. The past two times they had spoken to one another, he had made it seem like death was a very real possibility. Like it was imminent if she didn't follow his instructions...

Kirk gave an irritated sigh, waving a hand towards her as he studied her face. "You're making her worry for nothing, Spock. We'll be _fine."_ Fine. As long as she maintained a 'close perimeter'.

As though he had completely ignored Kirk, Spock continued on to say, "the commander and I will be within communications range should anything occur." Then he spun around to walk away from the group. The act was just as effective as saying, _now I am busy, so do not interrupt unless it's important. _Amelia scowled at his backside.

Before Jenna followed, she held two fingers up to her forehead in a mock salute and said, "meet you in an hour."

Amelia's tricorder was in her palm a moment later, still set for the work in the hydroponics bay. Luckily she didn't have to change anything, the data she intended on recording the same kind as what she checked daily with her own plants. PH levels. Nitrogen. General soil nutrition.

Keeping Spock's warning in mind, Amelia stayed tight on Kirk's tail as they approached the jungle. Once they passed through the green barrier it was like walking into another world. She found herself looking around with child-like wonder, the scene around her enchanting, as though it were pulled from a fairy tale.

The tree roots were the size of her torso, dipping up and down out of the mossy ground. Dark green leaves hung from thick limbs, longer than she was tall. Vines hung from the tall trees, too heavy for them to push out of the way. And then there were the flowers, sporadically spread through the forest. Their blooms were larger than her head. She felt like Alice in Wonderland, half expecting them to start talking.

Then again, that hadn't been a pleasant experience for Alice.

She had been right about the trees blocking out light, but there was still enough that they had yet to use flashlights. Sunlight still peeked its way through to land on the moss covered ground.

Every now and then she would call for Kirk to stop so she could take a few readings from the soil. Given the size and mass of everything around her, she wasn't surprised to find the dirt at optimal levels. Everything just _thrived_.

"You ready to pick some flowers?" Kirk called over his shoulder, coming to a stop. She realized why he had halted as she peered around him.

A blooming field rested before them, a rainbow spread on the ground. They were fully open flowers, similar to a long stemmed rose, but so much larger. Their stems were shorter, however, keeping them close to the green floor of the jungle. "Wow."

Stepping around Kirk, she knelt next to an orange colored flower. It's petals were as large as her hand and smooth, save for the edges which were lined with tiny thorns. They almost looked like teeth. Amelia shrugged off her backpack, and pulled out one of the empty boxes. Behind her, Kirk watched on as she reached out to touch the flower.

Already, her mind was anticipating the feel of the petals. Would they be soft like a rose? They certainly looked like one.

She stopped just a centimeter away, her eyes trained on those thorns that lined the edges of the petals. Suddenly, she was hit with another familiar feature. "You know what this looks like?" She asked, casting a glance back at the captain.

"What?" Kirk asked, not really appearing to be interested, but doing his part to urge this along.

"A Venus fly trap." She recalled her second semester botany class and having to do a final project where she had to transplant and study five similar, but of different species, plants in a shoe box sized terrarium. She'd chosen a variety of bug eating plants. "These thorns... they're not like stem thorns. Too narrow at the base."

"Venus fly trap? Don't those eat slugs and stuff? What do they call them... Carnivore plants?"

"Carnivorous, but yeah. And the size of this one... it could eat-" A cat. A small dog. Some of the other blooms she had seen were larger than small children. Her back stiffened, a sudden wave of fear approaching. "People often build terrariums just for carnivorous plants. If there's one, several more varieties usually exist in the same exact environment. They thrive and die together, taking out waves of insects that would normally devour them. But their numbers only protect them for so long, until there is nothing left to eat."

Amelia shot a wide eyed glance at Kirk, then looked past him to find the closest tree. "I need a branch."

"Testing a theory?" He asked, as if aware of her train of thought.

"Something like that."

He pulled his phaser off his hip, following her gaze to the tree. As if reading her mind, he raised the gun-like device and pointed at a small limb that wouldn't be too large for her to wield. She'd never seen a phaser used, but just like she had mentally pictured it, a laser-beam sliced through the wood. "That's... efficient." Then again, everything about Starfleet was efficient.

Including the way Kirk took the branch by its end and tossed it onto the rainbow bed of flowers.

The reaction was as quick as it was violent, the beautiful blooming petals practically imploding into flat surfaces. Bits of bark flew, loud crunching sounds echoing beneath the trees as the carnivorous plants fought over their share. Amelia tucked her head into her elbow, protecting herself against the debris. If they could do that to a fresh solid branch the width of her wrist, she could only imagine what would have happened if her hand had been caught in one.

When she looked back, scattered wood rested at her feet. "Oh my god!"

"And that... is classified as hostile." Kirk pulled out his communicator, holding it up to his ear a second later. "Spock. Do not touch the flowers." The first officer said something that had him narrowing his eyes in annoyance and shouting. "And you didn't think to share with the class? Amelia almost got her arm taken off!"

The captain went silent for a while, listening intently to whatever it was Spock had to say. After a minute he snapped the communicator shut. His voice wasn't jovial and relaxed like she was used to. It deeper and quick. The unquestionable tone of a commanding officer. "We need to get to the shuttle. Now."

Amelia nodded, but didn't reach for her backpack. Instead she picked up the small box and opened it. "I'm going to grab a sample." She pulled a cloth glove from her backpack, sliding it on. Perhaps they could find a use for such strong plants. Since the rose like blooms had closed, she figured they wouldn't open until they were finished digesting whatever was trapped inside. That was usually how a snap trap worked on Earth anyway.

In any case, she steered clear of the _pistil_, her hand slowly reaching for a stem. It was about as thick as her finger, and when her first closed around it she made sure to snap it quickly at the base. A moment later she almost dropped it, a burning sensation erupting across her palm.

She gritted her teeth against the pain, focused on folding the plant into the box. When she finally snapped the box shut, she pulled the glove off, her eyes looked over the damage. "I think... there was a second defense." She looked across her shoulder to see Kirk eying her hand. Letting out a quick hiss, he reached for wrist to take a closer look.

Tiny dots of red littered her entire palm. "The stem must have micro needles. Like a bull nettle." The quick explanation was said through clenched teeth. She should have never touched it in the first place, too focused on comparing it to the plants of Earth even though she'd bore witness to how very _different_ the plants were.

"I don't have a dermal regenerator with me, but there is one in the shuttle. The wounds look superficial." Neither of them were carrying anything to wrap her hand with, but since the cuts were so small, they had already stopped bleeding. They still burned though, like tiny paper-cuts.

With a sigh she rubbed her hand against the leg of her white uniform, the blood transferring and leaving her palm with a few caked red spots. She hoped McCoy wasn't going to be there when the away team returned. _"You're accident prone." _He had correctly stated and she could only imagine what he would say if she came back covered in blood.

Kirk shot a glance at the closed flowers behind them and she tossed her backpack across her shoulders. "At least getting back will be faster." She said as she followed the captain, taking the path they had come through.

"You'd think so, but..." He stopped suddenly, and she almost ran into him. Leaning over to look around him, she could see their footprints in the moss. Blue flowers interrupted the path, larger than the ones they had watched destroy the tree branch. "I don't recall seeing those on the way in."

As he spoke, the flowers seemed to rotate their direction. Amelia's heart thudded in her chest. "Kirk... they're _looking_ at us." On instinct, Amelia stepped back.

Kirk's arm shot out instantly, clutching the front of her uniform in a hard grip. "Don't move." She swerved her head to see the reason he'd stopped her. A flower bloomed just behind her. Another step back and she would have been limping for the rest of her life.

More flowers popped up through the moss, opening into full blooms in the blink of an eye. Within seconds they were surrounded by a terrifying display of pink, purple, and green. Kirk dropped his hand from her uniform, pulling out his phaser.

"I think now is a good time to go." She said, receiving a short nod in response. Kirk aimed the phaser at the closest plant, the first one standing in their path to the shuttle, and fired. The bloom disintegrated and Kirk took a single step forward. Just as his rear foot left the moss, another plant sprung up from the ground to rest between them.

She took great care not to brush against the petals that were just centimeters from her legs.

"Did you ever consider the fact that this continent wasn't _inhabited_ for a reason?" He fired more phaser shots, tugging her along with every step he took. Behind them, plants continued to sprout.

He huffed, not sparing a glance back as he continued to pull her along the freshly cleared path. "Yeah. I'm starting to get that."

Something wet landed on her cheek, a drop of water. She reached up to touch it, surprised by how sticky it was. Another drop, this time larger, hit her shoulder. Rotating her head she looked at the amber colored liquid.

"Is that sap?" Apparently Kirk was also getting a light drizzle. His hand ran through his hair, the strands ending in points and maintaining that shape. He groaned, "My hair's all sticky."

Amelia rubbed her hand across her cheek, smearing the sticky substance and having no luck removing it. A numb sensation crept in around the skin of her palm and on the side of her face. A third drop landed against her right eyebrow, sliding down past the corner of her eye. "You think the trees want to eat us too?"

"Pull your backpack over your head. This stuff seems to have some kind of _tranq_ quality." His instructions were quickly followed, but it seemed like the damage was done. Her fingers twitched, pins and needles spreading across her skin.

Whatever was in that sap was acting fast, the vision in her right eye blurring. "I can't feel my hand or my face. And I can't see from my right eye."

"Well you're one better than me." Kirk turned to face her and, despite the numbness, her other eye still went wide. Through her half gaze, she could see that amber liquid was spread across his forehead, and though his head was turned in her direction, he wasn't _looking_ at her.

"Don't panic, Amelia-" Why did that phrase have a tendency to inspire the opposite?"-but you're going to have to take my phaser. I'm walking blind here."

"Kirk, I don't even know how to _use_ the phaser." Contradictory to her words, she was already taking it from his outstretched arm.

And even though their odds of making it out were slowly dwindling, he grinned. That small expression was enough to ease the pounding in her chest. "It's easy. Point and shoot. It's already on the right setting." His hands moved unsteady in the air until he touched her arm. "You're guiding us out of here."

She nodded, being extra careful as she moved around him. They were forced to stand hip to hip, too many flowers surrounding them for any maneuvering space. But when she was settled up front, she pointed the strange gun at the next plant in their way.

Kirk still had a firm grip on her arm, so when she fired and took a step forward, he moved in tandem with her. Drops of sap continued to fall, some large enough to soak through her uniform. Splotches of skin lost sensation, but she kept moving.

And so did Kirk. He didn't say anything else about not being able to see, but every now and then he would give a frustrated sigh. After ten minutes of a slow shoot and step pace, she could see a break in the jungle. The shore-line was visible now, and she could hear voices rising above the sound of water.

Spock and Jenna.

The sound of phaser fire followed, but this time it wasn't Amelia who had pulled the trigger. Light made it's way into the jungle, landing to illuminate her path. Spock approached her and Kirk from the shore-line, carefully navigating around the flowers that hadn't been there when they'd entered.

"I'm afraid our exploration of this planet must come to an end." Again with that Vulcan humor.

Behind her, Kirk laughed. "And I thought we were going to stay. Camping, s'mores. The whole shebang." How he managed to laugh, she didn't have a clue.

Spock's eyes traveled up and down her form, landing on the red smear on her pant leg. "You are injured?"

"Superficial." She muttered, holding up her hand that still carried dots of red. "But Kirk can't see."

"You should have hailed for a transport." This time, emotion did make its way into Spock's voice. Disappointment filtered into his tone.

"I tried." She watched as Kirk tapped the silver emblem against his chest. "Emergency transponder doesn't seem to be working."

She shot him an accusing glare, though without his vision it was a wasted effort. He had planned to transport _her? _Without permission? She'd just have to use her words to convey how upset the idea made her. "You were going to transport us?"

He gave an unapologetic shrug. "I didn't want to say anything. Not with your phobia. Figured I would just take the beating back on the Enterprise." And then, with a small grin, he added. "Hey, Spock, can you tell me if she's scowling?"

Spock ignored the question, still focused on the transporter issue. He tapped his own Starfleet insignia. When nothing happened he looked up to the giant trees above them. "Perhaps the plant life is interfering somehow."

Spock reached to his belt, pulling out his communicator. He hit a few buttons, then held it to his ear. After a long silence he snapped it back against his belt. "I cannot reach the Enterprise."

"It's a little early to start panicking. We still have the shuttle and check in is about two hours from now. If we don't reach them, they will find a way to reach us." His lack of sight wasn't slowing him down. Instead Kirk squinted his eyes and tilted his head, as if searching for a ship he couldn't possibly see. Now there was a man who inspired confidence.

The Vulcan turned abruptly, waving them to follow. It was a short walk to the sandy beach and she sighed when she saw that it was free of flowers. She'd half expected them to pop out of the sand. The irony of her relief didn't escape her either...

Behind her, Kirk spoke up. "I don't hear Carver anywhere."

As if on cue, Jenna Carver screamed.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **Longest chapter yet! I love action scenes. I've been doing a lot of plot work lately and we're going to see a shift to the story soon. I'm excited about the way the story is heading. There's some characters I want to bring back into the story and working them in is going to be a challenge - which is the best part of writing. Thank you all for the reviews, favs, and follows! They certainly keep me going. I'm always glad to get criticism too because it helps fill in holes that I don't catch.

* * *

**STARDATE 2260.061**

**Planet MBY004**

**Beta Quadrant**

_She stared at the device Richard handed her. It fit in her palm and was roughly the size of a hand-held cassette player. Except there were flickering lights that had all the colors of the rainbow and round buttons with zero indication of what they meant_. _She turned it over in her hand, little black panels and holes dotted across the top. _

"_What is it?" She finally asked, looking up to see a slightly amused look on Richard's face. It was the look he always wore when he shoved something new her way. _

"_It's a tricorder. I'm sure you've seen people carrying them around the installation." In addition to his words, he pointed at a small group of people standing further down in the corridor. One of them held an identical device in their hand. _

_Amelia shrugged, looking back to Richard with an arched brow. "I've seen _lots_ of strange things around here. I meant what does it do?" _

"_They can be programmed to analyze almost anything." Programmed... like a computer. Before arriving in 2259 Amelia could count the number of times she'd seen a computer on both hands. Nowadays, everything _was_ a computer. _

_Richard continued to explain, taking the device out of her palm only to open it and hand it back."There are tricorders for medical officers, programmed to check for disease. There are tricorders for engineers, programmed to check power levels. And... there's tricorders for gardeners, programmed to check anything from soil levels to overall health of the plant. This one was given to me by Garren."_

_For a moment she wasn't sure who Richard was referring to, but when it struck her, she almost shouted, "The blue guy?" With the things sticking out of his head? _

_He sighed and rolled his eyes. "We really need to work on your _cultural sensitivity_. I don't think the Andorian would like being referred to as 'blue guy'. Just like Mr. Soleer didn't appreciate you pointing at him and calling him 'eyebrows'." _

"_I figured it was better than elf ears." The corner of Richard's mouth twitched and Amelia wondered if he was fighting a grin. He didn't let it show, though, unwilling to reward her behavior. _

"_Maybe you should have just asked his name first?" Again, Richard used his admonishing tone. _

_Amelia gave another shrug before turning a serious gaze on her friend. It wasn't like he could really understand. He had grown up with aliens, walked with them when he was in grade school. The first time she'd seen one of the green ones she almost passed out. "I've met all of two aliens. Excuse me if my comfort level isn't high enough for that one yet." _

"_You're bound to meet a lot more in the near future. You're going to need to be more... adaptable." Adaptable. It was a word they'd used way to often and for some reason it set her on edge. _

"_Adaptable? Richard, I'm holding a _computer_ in my hand. Do you know how big the computers were when I went to college? They were bigger than your office and the most they could do was print my name. I'm being adaptable!" She felt like chunking the tricorder. All it represented was sleepless nights staring at blinking displays and reading _another _technical manual. But that was the opposite of being 'adaptable'. Instead, she clutched it to her chest, holding with it all that it represented. One technology at a time, Richard had said. _

"_And loud." He shushed her, looking back at the group of people that had been standing in the corridor. She could almost see him planning out what he would say next, weighing his words. "I'm sorry. I know how hard you've worked to not... panic. I just mean that you're going to have to learn the technology and get used to any non-Terrans." _

"_I've used the replicator." _

"_It's voice activated, Amelia." Some of them were, but she didn't remind Richard of that. "The tricorder will be more difficult. I've arranged for Garren to take some time every other morning so you can be proficient with it. And hopefully you'll get used to-" he sighed, "-the blue guy." _

"_Can't I just get a little green-house and live out the rest of my life in the middle of nowhere." But after everything she had seen... a little green-house just wouldn't cut it anymore. _

_As astute as always, Richard arched a brow and said, looking down at her, "You and I both know that deep down, you want something more with your life." _

"_How do you know that?" _

"_Because you've been alone for too long. Think of it like... the next adventure." The next adventure? Her last adventure had been to take a surprise trip to Flagstaff and pick up a dogwood. _

"_I'm not an adventure kind of girl." _

"_Yes, you are. Or else you never would have ran towards that hovering ball in the sky." Richard turned away from her, leaving her standing with the tricorder. He cast one look over his shoulder, saying with a smile, "0830. Garren will be in my office." _

The next adventure wasn't at all like Richard had made it out to be. It wasn't all awesome technology that could create a steak from thin air or beam tons of equipment from one military installation to another or get close to the beauty of space.

It was Jenna's high pitched scream that set the first officer into a inhuman sprint. It was Captain Kirk walking blind beside her. And it was herself, stuck on a killer-plant infested planet. Of all the adventures she could have pictured... this wasn't one of them.

Her palm still ached where thorns had pierced it and the vision in her right eye was still hazy. And Jenna's scream made her stomach turn with horror. She clenched her eyes shut, her hand fisting Kirk's sleeve.

"Amelia?" Concern laced his voice, questions hanging in the air. Why had Jenna screamed? Where were they? And why wasn't she saying anything?

Amelia finally opened her eyes again, catching a glimpse of Spock leading Jenna out of the shuttle. The Vulcan's arm rested gently across Jenna's shoulder. The fact that they came out without the ensign created another wave of nausea. "The kid's dead." Amelia muttered, recalling how she'd told him that he'd be _fine._ Apparently her words had been a far cry from reality.

Kirk sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "We need to find a way of contacting the Enterprise."

Before Amelia could remind him of their already failed attempts to contact the ship, Spock returned. He looked more sullen than usual, the tiniest display of emotion portrayed by his narrowed brows and tight lips.

"Captain." The both turned towards the first officer. "The sand appears to no longer deter the plant life. Ensign Weston has been strangled by vines."

Amelia's eyes drifted closed, her head bowing. While she took a tiny reprieve, Kirk continued his assessment of the situation, one question at a time. "How's Carver?"

"Distraught. I've tasked her with pulling the emergency beacon from the outer panel of the shuttle." Amelia cast a look back at the shuttle, but Jenna must have been on the other side, only her shadow visible. Jenna had more of a stomach than Amelia did, because if she had been the one to witness the evidence of Ensign Weston's death then she'd still be throwing up in the sand.

The mere through of it made her queasy.

Behind her, Kirk asked another question, pulling Amelia's attention back to the problem at hand. "Is there a chance that we can get through to the Enterprise?"

"The beacon will send a more direct and powerful signal. We won't be able to send a custom message, but they should hear the distress call." Spock's words inspired hope. There was at least a chance that they wouldn't die on this planet.

"What time-line are we looking at?"

Spock tilted his head, a reaction that Amelia had come to decipher as his 'calculator mode'. "Approximately thirty minutes for set-up, twenty before the call is heard, decoded, and responded to. And an hour for the second away team to prepare for departure. At most we're facing four hours before a rescue shuttle arrives." Four hours. That was how long they had to make it.

She'd survived quite a bit these past few months. What was another life threatening situation?

But then Kirk brought up a fact that she'd never considered. "Remind me again how long it will be until nightfall."

Without missing a beat, Spock responded. "Two hours, Captain."

"Alright. I need a medical kit and some water. Hopefully if I wash this sap off, I'll be a little more useful. And if you could, check Amelia's hand. The last thing we need is an infection." For a man who couldn't see, Kirk certainly kept up with what was happening around him. He'd hear Jenna say something to Spock and turn his head. He'd hear something from the wood-line and face it with an unclear gaze.

Spock spared a few minutes to take a look at her hand. He sprayed it with a clear substance and even though she didn't know what it was, she was grateful for it. Her palm ceased its throbbing almost instantly. Then, abruptly, he asked her to 'take care of the captain'.

After Amelia did a thorough job of washing the sap away from Kirk's eyes, she focused on her own. She found herself frowning when there was no immediate change to the haze in her vision. Which meant that Kirk was still blind.

"Good things come to those who wait..." She muttered to herself with a sigh. She must have drawn Kirk's attention with her words, because he rotated around to face her.

For a moment he didn't say anything, just seemed to stare over her shoulder. Of course he wasn't really staring at anything. After a moment, he asked, "They're almost done with the beacon, aren't they?"

She looked across the sand to where Jenna and Spock were constructing the small tower. It wasn't any taller than herself, but it seemed to have several pieces. For an _emergency_ beacon, it sure looked difficult to put together.

Spock stood, holding his hand against the base of the spire tower. Lights began to blink soon after. "I'd say so. It's blinking."

"That's good." His words were positive, but his tone seemed dim. When she glanced over at him, he was facing the forest, concentration wrinkling the skin around his eyes.

Her natural curiosity took over, "What is it?"

A small smile formed on his face and she found herself sharing the expression. He turned away from the forest and said, "Just thinking of something Bones told me before we left."

Her smile faded. "Doctor McCoy?" Of all the people he could be thinking about, he picked the most negative man Amelia had ever met. "He's never struck me as the optimistic type. Now might not be the best time to recall his words."

"He said you were a distraction. When I get back I'll have to tell him how wrong he was." Amelia frowned at that. Then again, she wouldn't expect praise from the good doctor. "You saved our lives back there. And you're doing a hell of a job keeping it together." The compliment brought her smile back, even if it was laced with concern.

Maybe she was doing alright at hiding her fear.

"Running around like a chicken with my head cut off wouldn't get us any closer to home." Home. Where was that again? Amelia looked up at the sky, as if expecting to see the great starship Enterprise floating in the distance. After a few months it certainly felt like home. And she couldn't wait to curl up on her bunk after a sonic shower.

Kirk tilted his head. "You say the weirdest things sometimes."

"Old habits die hard."

Before Kirk could respond to the _ancient _colloquialism_,_ Spock and Jenna made their way over towards them. The Vulcan looked almost satisfied, glancing back over his shoulder at the beacon. When Amelia looked at it, she could see a few more steady blinking lights.

"The emergency beacon is active." If Spock's time-line was accurate, that meant there was a little less than two hours for them to hold out.

Already the sun was beginning to set in the distance, bringing about another challenge. Amelia glanced towards the sun, a hand covering her forehead as she asked, "What are we going to do about nightfall?"

"I'm afraid there is nothing we can do to prevent that, Miss Wright." She whipped back around to shoot a narrowed glare at the pointy-eared comedian. If he was trying to lighten the mood... he was doing a awful job.

"I meant, what temperature changes are we facing? Lighting?" She waved a hand towards the sky. "Is there even a moon orbiting the planet? Are we going to have to fight off killer vines and flowers while it's pitch black and freezing? What. Are we. Going to do. About Nightfall?"

The Vulcan narrowed his gaze and deferred the question. Of course he would address the captain first, stoic in his role as the first officer. "Captain?"

"Good questions." Kirk twisted where he was standing, as if looking around their small circle. "Carver?"

Jenna arched a brow. "Biologist, not an astronomer."

And then full circle, Kirk turned back towards the first officer. "Spock?"

"Temperatures have dropped two degrees over the past two hours. Calculating with our time remaining on the planet, we're looking at a low of 18.4 degrees." 18.4 degrees? For a moment she forgot that everything was metric now. But no one looked concerned, which meant that 18.4 degrees wasn't a threat.

Before she could stop herself, she asked, "What is that in Fahrenheit?"

Kirk and Jenna looked confused while Spock didn't miss a beat. "65 degrees." The Vulcan cast her a quick sideways glance, his brow arched. Amelia could only imagine the questions he wasn't asking. She could only blame her lack of forethought on stress.

She'd just have to be more careful in the _future_.

"As far as lighting is concerned, we will have sufficient moonlight." At Spock's words, Amelia looked towards the shuttle. There was still the concern of the plants. Would flowers eventually pop up on the beach? Would more vines make their way across the sand?

Was there anything else in the distance that threatened to kill them?

**STARDATE 2260.061**

**Orbiting Planet MBY004**

**Beta Quadrant**

McCoy tapped his fingers against the data padd. Sick bay was prepped, a precaution made every time an away team was selected and sent off-ship. He hoped that the clean sheets would stay that way and he would be given even more time to analyze a dead strain of the Lo'fak virus. Because eventually he planned on being published once more and what better motivation was there than boredom?

Leaning against his desk, he shoved a fist under his chin and frowned at the data padd. "Who in their right mind would classify Lo'fak as nerve impacting? It's cerebral, you morons."

"You certainly don't think highly of your peers, do you?" McCoy turned abruptly, surprised by a sudden voice from behind him. A single glimpse was all that was needed for McCoy to realize why he'd been taken by surprise.

Andorians... _sneaky bastards_.

Instead of voicing his aggravation at being startled, he pointed at the data padd and directed his frustration elsewhere. His 'peers'. "Not when they're nitwits."

"I see." Though it was clear that the Andorian couldn't care any less about McCoy's problems. Not that the doctor had expected any sympathy...

McCoy sighed and set the data padd aside, picking up a tricorder. There were few reasons that Th'eon would ever enter the med bay. The Andorian wasn't due for a checkup, none of his 'friends' were currently admitted, and he was well aware that McCoy wasn't the gossip type. Which meant that he was sick.

Already, McCoy was running through the possibilities, his eyes scanning over the blue man. His antenna were drooping slightly, the skin under his eyes pale. He _looked_ tired, explaining why the Andorian wasn't his usual chatty self. If it hadn't been for medical reasons, McCoy would have been glad there was something to keep him quiet.

"How long have you been having symptoms?" McCoy asked, waving the tricorder in front of Th'eon's face.

"Two days." He wasn't peppy or sarcastic, which raised more flags.

McCoy was already drawing towards one conclusion, but he continued with the standard questions anyway, plugging answers into Th'eon's already pulled up file. "It's a little early for the treatment to be wearing off. Everything else alright? Diet? Sleep habits?"

"Loss of appetite. Sleep is extended by a couple of hours." Normal reactions when the Andorian's natural metabolism began to kick in.

An Andorian required more rest than a human, though their lifespan was much longer. Most of the time they selected jobs that would allow them to follow their natural schedule, but there were occasions where they chose instead to go another route.

As Th'eon had.

Injections every six months which stabilized their system so they could function for a more human-like shift. Then eventually, the six months would turn into five. Then four. It was a process that McCoy didn't agree with and if he stood any chance of talking the Andorian out of the series... it was now, when his body was already starting to fight.

"Well, you're aware of your options. Get another injection and continue the treatment, or allow your body to do what comes naturally." McCoy stressed the latter option, pointedly waving his had up and down the Andorian's form.

Th'eon sighed, his antenna curling in annoyance. "Doctor, you are aware that there are only three chefs on board this vessel and I am the primary. I am in no position to _do_ what comes naturally."

"You're fighting a losing battle, Th'eon. Eventually, the treatments will no longer work and by then they'll have impacted your system to the point where your body will be unable to regulate its own metabolism." These were all points that Th'eon was sure to know, but it didn't hurt McCoy's case to reiterate them.

He didn't want to be the doctor who was there when Th'eon went into metabolic shock. Hell, he didn't want that to happen at all.

Another sigh, another twitch of his antenna. Th'eon's words were an odd mix of understanding and condescending, but McCoy didn't take it personally. "I'm 60 years old. I've been working for Starfleet for more than half my life. My metabolism is already compromised."

"Because you're fighting your nature. If you stop treatment there is a chance you can recover." McCoy even considered asking the Captain to make a detour to Andoria. In his natural habitat, Th'eon's chances would greatly increase.

Th'eon, however, didn't look like he was convinced. Instead, those damn antenna straightened out in the standard display of anger. A response that McCoy chalked up to tiredness and irritability.

The Andorian raised his voice. "I will not waste precious time with hibernation or a potential comatose state!" McCoy gave the man a moment to calm down, watching carefully as Th'eon sighed and rubbed his forehead. Again, his tone fluctuated back to condescending. "Doctor, I've been taking this treatment for almost as long as you've been alive. Your attempts to dissuade me are as useful as banging your head against a wall."

The doctor was beginning to see that. "Alright. This is what you want?"

A huff of irritation escaped the chef. "If I didn't want it, then I never would have come to you."

There was an extended moment of silence as McCoy considered what else he could say to change Th'eon's mind. Andorians weren't known for being fickle, though. Finally, he gave a sharp nod. "Okay. I'd give you the spiel, but I'm sure you're well aware of the side effects."

"I am."

"Go ahead and lie down on the bio-bed." As much as he was against the treatment, he would still issue it. His patient knew the risks and took them willingly. Heck, he'd been taking them for 'as long as McCoy had been alive'.

As he prepped a small tray with medication, tools, and sanitizer, the Andorian climbed onto the biobed.

"Strip off your shirt." McCoy ordered. He'd never actually performed this treatment, but he'd witnessed it several times and he'd been tested on it at the academy.

When Th'eon placed his uniform jacket on the floor, McCoy was glad to see a small silver device planted against his upper arm. It was a crude device, one that was dated but still common among Andorians that were Th'eon's age. The deltoid looked unharmed by the panel, the skin just a little stretched from time.

Usually McCoy didn't do small talk, but with the Andorian's moodiness, he opted to keep him distracted. "When we get back to Earth you can upgrade to the sub-dermal device. It came out a few years ago."

"I know." Th'eon snapped, but quickly followed up with a softer, "I'm used to it now." Maybe talk wasn't such a good idea.

There weren't too many steps involved with the treatment. Uncover the capsule that rested within the panel, remove the capsule, refill the capsule, and then a single hypospray. McCoy managed to finish the first two steps within a matter of minutes.

Already he was planning the aftermath of the hypospray. He'd need to monitor Th'eon in the med-bay for at least an hour, verify that all of the major systems took to the treatment first. Then it would be hourly checkups via communicator.

And God forbid anything happen to the Andorian. Aside from the guilt, McCoy would also have to face _her. _The enigma that was Amelia Wright.

"Are you alright, Doctor?" He had stopped what he was doing, halfway through filling the capsule with a metabolic stabilizer. Or de-stabilizer in Th'eon's case.

_Damn. _Now was _not_ the time to shift his focus onto that woman. He pushed the thought of her aside, shooting Th'eon a sideways glance. "Fine. Almost finished." A moment later he snapped the capsule back into place.

The easy part was over.

McCoy grabbed the prepared hypospray and held it up. "You want to be strapped down or do you think you can take it?"

"How little you must know of Andorians." Actually, McCoy prided himself on knowing quite a bit about their physiology.

He raised a brow at Th'eon's implication and responded with a grumbled, "I've treated more Andorians than you have."

"Just do it already." Th'eon braced himself, his hands clutching the sheet on the bio-bed. It wasn't that McCoy was unsympathetic. He was. He felt for the man, knowing that pain would soon race through blue veins and the Andorian's heart would ache as it worked overtime to distribute medication. But it would be short-lived and, thankfully, pain wasn't something you could recall through memory alone.

He asked Th'eon to count to 'three' and he gave the hypospray after 'one'.

"_Kiib!" _Now there was an insult if he'd ever heard one. McCoy kept his distance, his eyes darting between Th'eon, who was gritting his teeth, his back as tight as steel, and the bio-bed's monitor. Everything looked normal, all down to the way Th'eon suddenly dropping back against the bed.

His breathing was labored, but that was expected. His blood pressure was exceptionally high, but that was also normal under the circumstances. Even as McCoy watched, those high numbers began to drop.

He waited a few seconds before asking. "Feel better?"

Th'eon opened his eyes, staring with a wide gaze at the ceiling. "I feel... awake." His eyes then dropped to narrow slits, his antenna twisting outwards.

He was _hearing_ something. McCoy recognized the motions. "What are you picking up?"

"Sub-sonic static. It's faint, too far for me to decipher." That was odd. There were no ships nearby, nothing to be sending any kind of sub-sonic signal.

"How far?" McCoy would need to make note of this reaction since he would be giving Th'eon the treatments until they returned to Earth. Additional data was always a plus, that way he could compare reactions to better recognize a negative one. McCoy took a seat at his terminal, updating the Andorian's file as he waited on an answer.

"I don't know. It's already fading. My sensitivity is returning to normal." Th'eon's tone said he was unconcerned. McCoy stopped typing mid-sentence, suddenly struck with a realization. There were no ships nearby, but a sub-sonic signal _was_ being broadcast. And it was a direct one if the Andorian picked it up.

"Don't go anywhere!" McCoy shouted as he ran towards the door. If it was any other situation he would have used the communicator, but this required an actual honest-to-god face to face. He made it to the bridge in just under four minutes, still huffing from the exertion.

The doors slid open and allowed him access inside. It was quiet...which worried him. That meant that they hadn't picked up the sub-sonic frequency that McCoy was almost certain came from the planet.

His eyes found his target, a male wearing a yellow shirt and who was firmly situated in the Captain's chair. "Sulu!" The man turned to face McCoy, his expression stunned.

But not near as stunned as McCoy was. "Prepare the second away team. Something's happened." The quiet was suddenly interrupted with an oddly familiar series of commands.

**STARDATE 2260.061**

**Planet MBY004**

**Beta Quadrant**

Amelia watched the setting sun, the nerves in her belly growing. Kirk was blinking furiously, but so far he still wasn't able to see much aside from blurred shapes. Spock was running back and forth from the shuttle to where their small group was huddled together. It astounded her that he actually dared to go inside the vine infested aircraft...

But time was ticking and he had ordered them all to stand by as he gathered supplies.

Another phaser for Jenna. Emergency torches. And some kind of curved bladed weapon.

Spock was anticipating a fight, but he hadn't told them that just yet. Even though Amelia had difficulty reading the Vulcan, she could almost _sense_ that he was emotionally prepped for an assault.

She clutched Kirk's phaser to her chest, an action that she had repeated time and time again. The adrenaline of before was wearing off, fear approaching in its wake. Along with the memory of Ensign Weston. She didn't have the luxury of tears or sorrow or grief for the kid she barely knew. Amelia had to be strong. Just like Jenna, Kirk, and Spock.

She had to be focused. Her eyes were adjusting to the night, the blurred shapes of the trees becoming more defined. She wondered what else resided beyond that tree-line.

"Amelia." Jenna's voice drew her attention from the dark jungle, her head turning to face the biologist. "Commander Spock has recommend that we light torches and place them between us and the trees. It is possible that the vines were seeking heat."

It took her a moment to put it together, but when she did Amelia asked,"So we'll be using the torches as decoys?"

"Exactly. We're going to need to alter them, though. They're not designed to be hot enough to burn a human, but the safety can be overridden." Work was good. Work made it so that she could set aside the growing fear and actually get a glimmer of hope.

_Of course there's hope. You've survived over and over again. You'll survive this. _Jenna grabbed a silver case that Spock left behind on his last trip from the shuttle. When she opened it, Amelia looked over Jenna's shoulder to see rods attached to a round ball. It reminded her of an old fashioned light post.

Jenna went on to explain how they would override the safety measure and, surprisingly, Amelia was almost able to understand. They were able to activate four torches just in time before the sun completely set.

The red glow against the sand made Amelia's stomach turn. It reminded her of blood and set her nerves on edge once more.

Spock rejoined the group, setting aside another silver case. He nodded as he looked at their handiwork, then he turned abruptly to face the captain. "Captain." He waited for Kirk to face him. "Is your vision improving?"

The captain was still blinking quickly, shaking his head. "I see red. I'm guessing you guys got the torches to work?"

"We have." Spock opened the case and removed an object from inside. "I'm about to hand you a knife. Do you feel comfortable using it?"

"I'm blind, Spock, not paralyzed. It'll be better than nothing." Kirk held out his hand and without hesitation, Spock placed the handle against his palm. Watching them interact reminded Amelia of how fluidly they operated. Kirk nodded and Spock tapped his arm, a conversation ended without words.

That cooperation was what would get them home.

As Spock moved past her, Amelia caught his sleeve. "You're worried, aren't you."

For a moment she was sure she wouldn't get an answer. But he seemed to know how much she needed one, so he told her, "No more than I was an hour ago."

"What happened an hour ago?"

"The sun began to set." She let go of his sleeve and he continued forward, taking the torches with him.

He didn't want them in the 'danger zone', he had said. Jenna and Amelia were to stand in front of Kirk, who was still at a disadvantage. Spock planned on standing between them and the torches. Behind them all, the sea slapped against the sand.

"Is he always this self-sacrificing?" Amelia asked.

From behind her, she heard Kirk sigh and say, "Yes. He is."

When Spock returned he leaned over his pile of supplies and picked up the curved blade. In his left hand he held a phaser, in his right he clutched the grip of the blade. Then he turned away from them all and faced the forest.

Slowly, the temperature dropped. She could barely recall how cold 65 degrees actually was, but she didn't recall it being _this _cold. Her white uniform did all it could to insulate her, but she was still shivering and goosebumps were forming on her limbs.

She ignored the discomfort as much as she could, her eyes narrowed and scanning the tree-line.

It wasn't the jungle that set her off though. It was Spock's back. He went stiff in front of her, his arm moving to raise the blade. The hand with the phaser pointed to the far torch. Amelia didn't know if Jenna was watching and she didn't really care to spare a glance towards the biologist.

Her eyes were focused on the red light in the distance. Time seemed to tick by just a tad slower as that red light sunk into the ground.

She opened her mouth to say something, but stopped short. The flowers had turned to face them when she and Kirk had conversed in the jungle. If she said anything now... whatever was out there might seek them out as well.

So she would stay quiet until that was no longer an option.

The second torch dropped and she was able to see the culprit more clearly. The vines, thick and dark and ready to devour anything that could even be considered as food, attacked the torches one by one. Aside from a few small gasps and heavy breathing, no one made a sound.

The third torch fell, a crack resounding as the bulb at the top was shattered. Amelia jumped, her knuckles white as she clutched the phaser.

Spock finally broke the silence, his whispers carried through the air. "When they come, attack quickly. Before they have a chance to constrict."

Constrict? Like snakes? Comparing the vines to snakes made her feel just a little bit better. She could handle snakes. Amelia had grown up in the desert and had taken on her fair share of the slithering pests. The only thing that would have made her feel a little better was if she had a garden hoe...

Her eyes went back to Spock just in time to see him shift his feet across the sand. Blood rushed in her ears, her heart thudding against her chest. Amelia tried to force herself to calm, counting as she took a slow inhale. When her lungs were full, it was as though time stood still.

On the exhale, time resumed.

Spock moved, faster than her eyes could track, a glinting blade sliding through the air. It cut through something with a brief high pitched whistle. The Vulcan practically danced across the sand, reacting just as she caught a glimpse of vines coming from the ground.

Beneath her own feet, the ground shifted, spurring her to jump into the air. Amelia never considered herself athletic, but the straight jump gave her enough time to point her phaser at the sand and fire. A black burn mark was all that was left of the thick green vine.

When her feet touched the beach, she fought the urge to take off in a sprint. She wouldn't leave Jenna and Kirk alone. Amelia cast a quick glance behind her, making sure that Kirk had yet to be drawn into the fight. He'd moved back some, standing so the water reached his ankles. In his right hand, he held up the knife, prepared to cut anything that touched him.

Amelia made a mental note not to bump into him.

The events around her were chaotic, erratic enough to where her focus would be drawn from one person to another, her finger constantly on the trigger of the phaser. The only person who didn't need assistance was Spock, who continued to remain in 'front'.

Almost ten feet to Amelia's left, Jenna shouted. Her arm moved before her head, the phaser turned that direction. A vine had taken hold of Jenna's arm, her own phaser on the sand. She'd never been too keen on target practice, but Amelia _did_ inherit her dad's revolver.

She kept her eyes on the vine, fired, and prayed that she hadn't hit Jenna's arm in the process.

There were simultaneous sighs when Jenna reached down to retrieve her phaser from the ground, shaking off the dead plant.

"Amelia!" Kirk's shout drew her attention away from Jenna and she started towards him. She couldn't see the threat, not with Kirk standing waist deep in the ocean. Amelia was starting to get the idea that the vines weren't just instinct driven. They were intelligent. Both of Kirk's hands were submerged and he was tugging against something.

They'd gone for the weapons on both Jenna and Kirk.

Her pant legs were drenched now, the weight slowing her down. He was only a few more feet away from her. "Kirk! I'm on your left. Don't stab me!"

"I can't. It's crushing my wrist."

Amelia took a deep breath and sank under the water. Salt burned her eyes, but she was able to make out the hazy form of Kirk. She didn't know if the phaser would work underwater, but she pointed it anyway and fired.

Dark green vines still stood out against Kirk's limbs and she took another shot, sending another prayer up that she hadn't shot _him_. She rose back towards the surface, taking in a gulp of air. They were both neck deep now, herself pulled by the current and Kirk pulled by the vine on his other arm. At least his left hand was free now.

She swam towards him, but was stopped short by a tug against her ankle. The tug turned into a painful squeeze. She fired towards her own foot until the tug gave way.

Amelia redirected her focus back to Kirk, now swimming with the waves to get to him. Behind her she could hear yelling from the beach. There was no time to turn back and help the others. Another row of her arms and she was able to grab Kirk's sleeve.

"It's me." She told him, just before diving back underwater. His right hand still clutched the knife, but he couldn't move it. A thinner vine had wrapped firmly from his wrist to his elbow. It was probably taking all his energy not to be pulled under. Amelia touched his fingers with her left hand, urging him to let go of the handle and as soon as he released she started to cut through the vine.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been under, but her movements were starting to become sluggish as she sawed though a vine that was working its way up Kirk's leg. That added with the burning in her chest was a pretty clear indication that she needed to surface.

As soon as she cut the last vine she pushed Kirk towards the shore and started swimming up.

Something touched her waist a split second before she was jerked back down. The sudden pressure caused the air to escape her lungs, bubbles trailing up and away from the direction she was headed. She fought the desire to open her mouthas black spots danced across her vision.

Maybe this was supposed to happen? Time, as she had been told, was a delicate thing. Her mere presence skewed history, changed it in ways that were irreversible. Maybe her death was the only way to correct her accidental appearance in 2259?

_Like hell. _She was here.. and she had a good 60 years left to experience this new life.

Her hand clutched the blade and she drove it down into the vine around her waist, feeling it pass through and into her skin. The sudden pain had her gasping, her mouth opening to be filled with salty water.

Again, something touched her right wrist and she twisted to bring the knife down. It didn't make it's target, a firm grip stopping her short. She struggled against it, even as it pulled her from the water.

Her back landed hard on the sand. A moment later someone firmly grabbed her chin and propped her onto her side. Water spewed out of her mouth.

She struggled to inhale, barely catching the voices around her, save for the one directly at her back.

"Breathe, dammit!" Even with her fading consciousness, she would be able to recognize the gruff voice that shouted at her. McCoy pulled her onto her back and she felt his hands below her breast as he pushed, quickly and _hard_.

More water bubbled in her throat as she was forced back to her side.

Then she gasped, finally able to pull in a lungful of that life saving element known as oxygen. As her vision cleared she could see several men and women carrying rifles and firing. The beach was bright now, lit up with a second shuttle craft.

Hands grasped her, tugging her up, her arms soon braced against two sets of shoulders.

"Your performance was exemplary, Miss Wright." She couldn't be entirely sure, but she sensed respect coming from the Vulcan on her left.

"Thanks." She mumbled, exhaustion weighing her words just as much as it weighed her body.

Then she heard Doctor McCoy on her right saying, "She certainly finds a way, doesn't she."

She must have blacked out shortly after, because the next time she opened her eyes she was lying on a stretcher in the shuttle. Tilting her head she could see the planet through a narrow window.

Amelia was certain that she wouldn't miss it at all...


End file.
